Final Strike
by SneverusSnapers
Summary: Kara Jaymond has gone from tribute to mentor, but the biggest task of her life is to come. Now Kara has to face a terrible decision - sacrifice herself or let everyone she cares about in the world die. But Kara's never been one for playing by the rules...
1. Cecelia and Woof

**A/N:** Well then, welcome to Final Strike my guests. Now, this is third in a series of probably three about a tribute/mentor/general prat called Kara Jaymond. (Not neccessarily in that order). Anyway, if you haven't then I suggest you go and read 'Gnawing Hunger', then 'Shattered Hearts' and finally move onto this. You see, no matter how much I love it when I have new people on board reading and reviewing my fics, it's just bad for you if you don't understand. You'd probably be able to pick it up from here, but I don't think you would have enough background information to fully understand (and enjoy) this. Don't worry, this isn't going anywhere... wait a second... disclaimer - I don't own the hunger games, Suzanne Collins does. Right then, _now_ it's not going anywhere. So I hope you don't just leave if you haven't read the ones before, if you're here then you're here for a reason, right? So you could just go and check them out. Granted, the beginning is rubbish, but once you get into them I can guarantee you'll be almost obsessed as I am. _Almost_. Anyway, enough of my rambling. I present to you... Final Strike.

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><p><strong>Final Strike<strong>

_I wake up to hear the agonising wails of a baby. A baby? A baby! I leap out of bed as fast as I can, barely bothering to set back the ruffled covers on my bed as I launch myself down the stairs, frantically thinking of what I'm going to say to Hercules, and Lumina while I'm at it. I can't believe it; the doctor said it would come any day soon, but now? Already? I'm not prepared, not ready at all, especially since I'm his or her protector._

_My hurried body yanks its way out of my house in a flurry, my father probably still in bed at this time in the early morning, orange streaks slashing the lightening sky. As I dash out of my house I glance at the houses to my left and right. To the left is Zen's new house, he's actually settled in nicely. He never told me where he lived before, but I'm assuming it wasn't exactly very nice, and to the right is where Hercules used to live. I say used to, because his mother only resides there now, he's moved in with Lumina. And now their household has amounted to three just this very morning._

_I scurry out of the house, the fresh morning air stuck on my tongue, and the few spikes of grass I'm able to see which are so rare in my district are swimming in glistening silver orbs of dewdrops, sweet and circular. Shaking my head to tug me from my alert state I race to the opposite house, running across the dying plants that the late winter provides, anxiously rubbing my hands together and not just to warm them against the bitter air. With a brisk tap onto Hercules and Lumina's door, only to find it unresponsive, I decide to knock a bit louder. And by a 'bit' I mean almost breaking the door down. Well I guess that's what it's like if you're a victor. In the end Hercules tramples down the stairs groggily, murmuring something about me almost breaking the door down. I think he noticed, whoops._

"_Where is it? Is it a boy or a girl?" I gabble hurriedly, trying to push Hercules aside to let me in, prodding his bicep while doing so. But he leans against the door, sleepy eyes drooping and confused, almost refusing to let me in via his bulk physically blocking up the doorway. And I can't argue with all of that muscle, can I? My face flushes when I realise he's only in his nightclothes, and he has trundled downstairs barefoot just to answer the door. Or what's left of it._

"_What are you talking about?" Hercules sighs, rubbish his bicep where I just poked him, and staring at me oddly like I am delusional or something._

"_The baby; the baby! Have you thought up a name for it yet?"_

"_You woke me up at goodness knows what hour in the morning when the sun has barely peaked, just to ask me that?" Hercules asks me in disbelief._

"_Why wouldn't I? I'm Lumina's best friend, aren't I?" I say, examining Hercules' dumbfounded face._

"_Well, you could have asked us after the baby's actually been born, you know, might have been customary; and not at this time in the morning!" Hercules snaps at me, evidently cranky._

"_What do you mean 'after the baby's been born'?" I ask, confusion swimming through my expression._

"_I mean 'after the baby's been born'," scoffs Hercules, "you do know it's not due until a couple more days, right?"_

"_Yes, but..." I stammer anxiously, trying to wipe off the look of disbelief on Hercules' face, "I heard crying, a baby's cries!"_

_Hercules is just about to start speaking when I hear the wail again, but this time it's not coming from this house, but the empty and unoccupied one next to it._

"_What's that?" I question, perking up my ears as the baby's wail cries out again._

"_Listen Kara, no offence, but I couldn't care less about your delusions at this time in the morning. Now if you'll excuse me, I was planning on having a lie in," huffs Hercules and rather rudely slams the door in my face, causing me to frown at the sharp and crisp morning's air, before the wail breaks out again and I decide to go and investigate as curiosity gets the better of me._

_I slowly stride to the empty house next to Hercules and Lumina's and open the door; or rather, I try to, since the door is jammed shut. After a while of constant rattling and manic attempts at opening it I come to the logical conclusion that this house is, in fact, locked. But why; why is it locked?_

_I viciously thump at the door and even decide to knock on the metallic knocker on the front of the door that's conveniently there to try and get in. Not like anyone will reply, but still... yet suddenly something moves in the house, I hear something stirring, and through the glimpse of blurred glass I see a dark figure slowly approaching the door. I suddenly feel my chest tighten in anticipation, which is stupid really, since I'm the one who actually has the more right to be here and the higher status since I'm both rich and a victor even if I'm just from district eight, and then the door creaks open._

_In front of me stands a woman in about her late thirties, straggly brown hair tied back in a ponytail to get kept out of her pinkish and flustered face, a serious and slightly worried expression showing and a quite young looking baby cradled in her arms, her shushing it as it screams._

"_Who – who are you?" I gulp in surprise as I take it all in and glimpse what looks like a normally used house behind her, cluttered as if she had been occupying it for a while now. But she hasn't – there's been no-one there ever since I can remember. I don't think anyone's ever lived in this house at all; actually, since Oswald Bourne and May Flutter, the only other victors from district eight, lived on the other side of the street of Victor's Village._

"_Kara, hun, you alright?" the woman asks, clearly concerned. How does she know my name? Wait, everyone knows my name, but still..._

"_Who are you?" I repeat again, but louder and firmer this time, and more shock brimming over me than before._

"_Are you sure you're alright hun, need to sit down, have a hot cup of cocoa?" the woman asks, rocking the baby gently in her arms as the look of concern spreads over her face._

"_I asked you a question!" I snap at her, taking on the tone I would use when speaking in anger to all of those people who used to call themselves my friends._

"_Kara – you know me," the woman says, desperately now. I examine her face again; one of pure worry and concern towards me, yet no recognition strikes me at all._

"_Where from?" I gulp._

"_Where from? Where from? Come on hun, I live here! There's me, you, Lumina, Hercules, Zen and Woof."_

_My face crumples up as the name 'Woof' appears. I've never heard of him or her before. What is this, two people just randomly appear up out of the blue, a woman and a baby, and the woman claims to know me, quite well by the sounds of it._

"_Woof? Who is that, and who are you, where do you come from, how come I don't know you?" I ask a flurry of questions, confusion fizzling all over me._

"_Kara," the woman says, looking shocked, "you know me. It's me hun, Cecelia, I've been a mentor with you in district eight for years!"_

I jolt out of my sleep, my face flustered and drenched in sweat. That was a rather vivid dream, though I swear it was more than that. I'm sure that's happened before. Anyway, that was in the winter and now it's the summer – almost time for the dratted hunger games again.

"Kara, the other victors are waiting for you," my father calls and reluctantly I tug myself out of my bed and then trample downstairs, the rather vivid dream still in my memory, refusing to budge.

Brushing past father on the way to the door, not even wondering how come he's up earlier than me, I stumble out onto the street, still in my rather skimpy silken nightie. I can't even escape from my supposed 'sexy' theme here at home in victor's village.

"Hey Zen." Zen blushes slightly when he sees what I'm wearing and turned his gaze away, embarrassed.

"Lumina, Hercules, how's the little one?" I ask them and the couple share a knowing look before beaming at me.

"Kurt's fine, thanks Kara," Lumina beams, her hand wrapped around Hercules' arm as if it was a life line.

"So, what are you all doing?" I ask them, though I know very well what they're doing. Today is the one day of the year when I can let go and just feel the stress of the upcoming hunger games ebb away – today is my birthday. My seventeenth birthday.

"Surprise!" exclaim Lumina and Hercules at the same time and Hercules passes a square shaped present about the size of a rather large orange to me. I feel around it, trying to find out what it is. Impatience getting the better of me as I register a solid square object, I rip it open and find myself staring at a rubix cube, a special type of puzzle for brainiacs like Beetee they have in the Capitol.

"Thanks." I grin and turn expectantly to Zen. He sheepishly holds out a rather flat and flimsy object wrapped in crisp brown paper. Not even bothering to feel this one, I rip it open only to find an "I heart Zen" t-shirt. In reply to this I just raise an eyebrow.

"When you told me you didn't have one last year I thought I might as well fill the gap," shrugs Zen even more sheepishly and I can't help but giggle.

"Okay then, that's all," I say, a grin infecting my face.

"Haven't you forgotten someone?" a voice calls and I turn around to see an aging man with decaying grey hair and a very recognisable woman. The woman from my nightmare; and that must be the man she mentioned. Cecelia and Woof.


	2. Who the Hell Are You?

**A/N: **So yes, I am getting quite into this. By the way, it may seem quite confusing but I can tell you now that all that is happening is Kara is getting confused beetween relaity and her dreams. She seems to be thinking that she never met Cecelia and Woof and it was all a dream... not saying they were there from the start... ARGH! I'm really bad at explaining this, well then I'll have to hand you to Zen. He's a lot better at this than me!

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><p>"Who the hell are you?"<p>

By the various expressions of shock, bafflement and even a slight hint of amusement from my fellow victors around me, I'm assuming that it's not the best thing to have said.

"Don't worry, she's at it again," Lumina consoles the pair, patting the old man's, Woof, I assume it is, arm tenderly to console him. I am judging by the jealous glare from Hercules that he's still quite possessive, especially ever since Kurt was born.

"Kara, are you alright, hun?" the brown haired woman asks me, her pink face flushing with worry, a baby who can only be a year or so older than Kurt slung onto her hip in the fresh summer air.

"Kara," hisses Zen slightly under his breath. He then places his vice-like grip onto my arm and steers me away into my house, glancing apologetically at the other victors behind him. I barely notice where we're going before I find we're entering my bedroom. I'm about to yell at Zen not to go in but it's too late and the door's swung open. I find both myself and Zen flush with embarrassment as we eye my underwear slung on the floor of my room. Zen hurriedly diverts his gaze to the wall, which unfortunately happens to be where I keep my 'I heart Zen' poster and a shelf full of 'I heart Zen' merchandise, which makes him blush even more, if that was even humanely possible. I wrench my arm out of his hand and hurriedly shove my underwear under my bed; trying to hide the bright colour my face has turned.

"So..." I say, trying to break the ice which has built up all around us, blocking us in a rather awkward silence.

"Kara, you had that dream again didn't you?" Zen says. I open my mouth to ask him how he knows about it but he waves his hand to silence me.

"Listen Kara, you're just confused – that's all. Every time you dream over events you seem to get confused with reality and fantasy, and think that things have happened were all a dream. I'm telling you now Kara – Cecelia and Woof have been living here, in district eight, for just over half a year and that's the morning they arrived. That make anything clearer?"

I just shake my head in confusion. It just makes thing less clear if anything, not making things clearer at all.

"Well, that's the unofficial version. Officially they've been living here all their lives. You see, Cecelia and Woof work for the Capitol. Indirectly perhaps, they're not here to spy on us or anything, they're just normal people. Basically the Capitol got two ordinary people from goodness knows where, offered them the life of a victor without the hunger games and then hey-presto, they took it."

"But why?" I ask Zen, confused.

"Oh, I think the Capitol have decided that we're all a bit too rebellious for their liking, so they want to tone down district eight's image a bit by adding a couple of more docile victors. A doddery old man and a mother of three children, what else could be less threatening?"

"But, I still don't get it," I murmur, "why do they want more docile victors? What do we matter?"

"Whether you like it or not, we victors have a great sway, especially in our own districts. The citizens of district eight work night and day, weathering their fingers to a bone. They're getting desperate Kara, in the Capitol's view too desperate. Anyway, the 'new' victors have fitted right in, at first there was some questions brewing but it got silenced pretty easily, and now they're fitting in. You know Kara, for the Capitol this is a pretty brainy move. Lumina and Hercules recently got married, and I think it's obvious that's far from what the Capitol planned to everyone here. They even had a child without the Capitol's consent. Everything about you spells 'rebel' Kara, you've got one heck of an attitude, and even a certain look about you, I might add. And me, well, I blatantly accused the Capitol for murder in my games. It's a wonder we haven't' already been rounded up and shot. I guess this was the compromise."

I smile at Zen. "Since when did you know so much about politics?"

"Well, actually that's what the head peacekeeper told me when I asked him. You were there too, we were all there. Don't you remember?" Zen admits.

Slowly I feel a vague warm feeling drifting back to me and a slight smile slinking across my lips as the fog the dream has casted over my mind disappears and I remember everything. "Oh yeah, I remember now."

There's yet another awkward silence as Zen and I stare at each other, realising that we're both now sitting on my bed, and Zen's hand is so close to mine that it's almost touching. The silence isn't too prolonged though since Zen leaps to his feet and jerks his hand away from mine and I find myself doing the same.

"I better go and apologise to them," I mumble and slowly drag my feet out of the room. "Oh and Zen, by the way-"

"Yes?" Zen asks slightly nervously.

"That's all you're seeing of my underwear, are we clear?"

Zen's face must be permanently dyed red by the time he exits my house, though I don't think any of the other victors notice, apart from maybe Woof who chortles slightly but remains pretty quiet otherwise. I turn towards the two victors, unsure of what to say. Luckily for me it's Cecelia who speaks first.

"Don't worry hun, let's just concentrate on something important shall we?"

"Like what?" I mumble.

"Your present!" Cecelia smiles and pulls out a hastily wrapped bundle of newspaper about the same size as her baby and hands it to me. Woof guiltily places the gift the size of a pebble on top of it.

I open first the small one Woof has given me and, to my complete and utter amazement, find my triple part ring.

"Woof! Where did you find it?" The words tumble out of my mouth before I can recognise the meaning and then I remember getting in quite a state after losing it. He mumbles something about just asking around and then taps Cecelia's present impatiently.

I nervously tear off the wrapping and inside I find a neatly dressed china doll with a rather haunting hand painted expression. Dolls have always given me the creeps since I was a little child, and this one is no exception. But even so, I smile courtly and give her a pleasant 'thank you', trying not to shiver under the lavishly dressed girl's lingering expression.

Excusing myself, claiming that my father's calling when he obviously is not, I manage to tear myself away from my fellow victors and, ring on finger, doll in hand, slam the door behind me, trying to shut out the confusion that's been drifting around my brain and set the facts out straight.

_My name is Kara Jaymond. I'm from district eight. My mother was murdered instead of my father. He never did get over it. My maid was reaped for the hunger games. I was reaped for the hunger games. I met Dral. I fell for Dral. Dral fell for me. My maid turned out to be my half sister. My half sister died. Dral died. I killed him. June died. I met Precious. Precious killed Anvike – I killed Dral. We were the same. We had to be the same. The cannon struck. We weren't the same. She threw away the knife. I killed her. I won the hunger games. I met Zap. Ally tried to take advantage of me. Zap punched Ally. I decided I liked Zap. I met Indi. I met Zen. I discovered Zen's six-pack. He discovered my legs. I decided I liked Zen. I forgave Ally. I tried to kill myself. Alder stopped me. I decided I liked Alder too. Indi and Zen entered the hunger games. Zen killed. Indi killed. Murderers. Murderers. Indi died. Zen wouldn't help her. Zen couldn't help her. Zen won. I bought some 'I heart Zen' merchandise. Cecelia and Woof turned up. Lumina had Kurt. It was my birthday. I got confused. It is my birthday. I am confused. I am no longer confused._

Finally I manage to dump the doll on the dining room table and turn away from it, blocking it as I would my thoughts. Straight away I turn back only to find it staring at me with its creepy little eyes.

"Well if you're real... make the phone ring," I tell it defiantly.

Then the phone rings.

I almost jump out of my skin, I'm so scared. But luckily I'm able to hang onto my composure for a minute and glare at it. "_And_ let it be President Snow," I hiss at the doll daringly. There, let's see it make that happen.

"Hello?" I pick up the phone and speak into the receiving end, listening to the crackle of the static until a quiet haunting whisper of a well known voice slithers through the telephone towards me.

It's President Snow.


	3. Too Rebellious

**A/N: **Short, yet plot decisive chapter. This whole chapter is basically her talking to good old President Snow on the phone. OH NO I MISSED THE APPRENTICE! You better be happy with yourselves, making me so busy I miss one of my favourite tv shows. Anyway, I'll go and catch up all that I can now. You go and read this chapter and review... hopefully. And yeah, this is all pretty freaky. And I added the doll in because I think dolls are creepy, it doesn't posess voodoo powers or anything. It just made a good cliffhanger!

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><p>At first I panic, unsure what to do and a sudden influx of sweats running across my hand, but then I grip the phone even tighter in my hand, squeezing it as if it were the President's neck itself and then slowly bring it up to my ear.<p>

"_Miss_ Kara Jaymond." The words slide through the phone as would the hissing of a snake and I have to muster all of my strength just not to drop the phone and run away to my bedroom, lock the door and shrivel away into nothingness for oblivion. But, as I said before, it might take all my strength yet I still manage to just about compose myself and speak down the phone, remembering just before I answer what President Snow said last time about my charade, as he called it. No accent for this occasion then, this isn't the hunger games. I play this on my own terms, with my own rules.

"Speaking," I say down the phone, keeping up an air of formality yet keeping my distance from him.

"You know who this is," he replies instantly, more of a statement than a conversation. I automatically feel my chest tighten at the voice as if a mutt snake had suddenly wrapped itself around me and was slowly constricting me until I feel almost dead. On the verge of death, but not quite able to tip out of the barrier. But I have to reply, this is the President after all. Not replying very might make me an Avox.

"I suppose I do," I sigh into the phone and, ignoring the slight crackle of static that is no doubt coming from my end, breathe down the phone once again, my legs shuffling as I try to get to grips with myself.

"Well that saves some time," President Snow says to me through the telephone, his voice barely more than a whisper. There's a silence as I just stare at the phone, waiting for him to speak. Eventually I realise he must be doing the same on his end, waiting for me to speak. Well, I suppose I'll have to, no matter what I say might be the making or breaking of me.

"You wanted to talk to me?" I ask, safe and civil. Never mind straight forward, this conversation will soon be over and it'll turn out he's wishing me happy birthday or something. Yes, happy birthday. He came in person last year on my birthday, didn't he? He said it was to see me, but maybe it was just to see me and wish me happy birthday in his own morphed way.

"Yes," President Snow says and I feel my breath getting caught in my lungs, "I wanted to talk about a rather... sensitive matter."

"No need to be sensitive around me," I say down the phone before I catch myself from continuing and have to remind myself I'm talking to the crazy psychopathic and all powerful President Snow of Panem.

"The fact is Miss Jaymond, that you are becoming quite, oh how should I put it, unruly, perhaps?"

Something strikes me deep into my heart and I have a second where my lungs stop working, but soon they jolt back into practise and I find I can breathe again.

"What do you mean unruly?" I choke out, voicing my thoughts and throwing away any tact I had built up until now.

"You're being blunt with me so I suppose I'll be blunt with you," President Snow hisses, "you're too rebellious, Miss Jaymond. And I cannot let this continue."

"That's why you sent Cecelia and Woof though, isn't it?" I quiz down the phone, and judging by the sudden silence I must have caught him off guard. Next the voice that replies to me is both bemused and slightly startled.

"Very clever, Miss Jaymond. You're rather quick on the uptake, aren't you? But yes, that is partly correct."

"Partly?" I question, a jolt of fear riding through me. But instead of getting a straightforward reply he seems to steer the conversation away as one would do to a rather touchy subject.

"I cannot let my authority be jeopardised by such a vigorous character. So there's only one thing I can really do, and that's tone you down."

"Tone me down?" I gulp, my head suddenly becoming dizzy as if the whole world were spinning around me.

"Well yes, and make quite a profit out of it, I can assure you," hisses the President. The way he says it makes me jolt once more.

"A profit?" I repeat.

"Oh I'd wish you'd stop parroting my every word," he whispers, "it becomes rather dull at points and it feels like one's talking to oneself in a mirror."

I am about to say 'a mirror?' when I realise that is exactly what he would want me to say, so I clamp my mouth shut and try to gulp down all of the many emotions brewing inside of me and put a lid on them, if only for a moment.

"I believe that your style, as one might put it, for the hunger games is as 'sexy', am I correct?" he asks me, knowing full well that he's correct, as if waiting for me to answer back to him just so he can hear the sweet words drift from my mouth.

"Yes, President Snow."

"Well that style puts at risk everything I've tried so hard to achieve in Panem, a dictatorship of peace. You must understand, no? But you Miss Jaymond, whether you wish to or not, endanger that peace. I'm pretty sure some of the more senior of Gamemakers wanted you to be shot and made an example of, but I realise that while you have quite an attitude problem and often disobey those in command, you're just a frightened little girl at heart and you're not at fault at all in this business, are you?"

"Don't judge me," I growl into the telephone, clenching it harder into my fist.

"Oh I wasn't planning on. But that's beyond the point now. The point is," he says, the voice still cutting smoothly through the phone, "the point is that you're a liability to my control and I have to do something about liabilities."

"A liability?" I choke out, confusion rippling through my features.

"Let me put this to you simply to save me writing up a huge phone bill and then having to make about ten more expensive phone calls just to cancel the first one. You, Miss Kara Jaymond, are going to work for me."

"As a spy?" I gasp, before I notice that what I just said might have just given away that I might have something worth spying for.

"No, Miss Jaymond, as a prostitute."

And before I can get to grips with what I'm doing, or the consequences that I will do doubt have to endure, I slam the phone down in the socket.


	4. Not Your Kind Of Girl

**A/N: **I'm so sorry! How long whs it been? One month? Maybe two? And on that cliffhanger as well... I know it's annoying, but I feel it's my duty as a writer to explain. My laptop broke. There, not my fault, and I could only start new fics on the other computer, not continue with the old (an hour proccess mucking about with the computers just to get the opportunity to get to write _one_ chapter of an old fic! I'm afriad to say I wanted to finish "They Called Me a Stylist", a 5 part saga about Tigris from Mockingjay. Anyway, my deepest apologies and I just hope none of you have abandoned me over this time! I really do wish you enjoy yourself with this chapter and find it in your hearts to forgive me. But not being able to continue with stories hasn't stopped me - oh no! I've joined something called "24 tributes, 24 authors". It's where 24 of the hunger games' best authors get together to write one hunger games, each commanding one tribute. I myself have got the district eight female (of course) who goes by the name of Maia Spring and spends her time as an acrobat in a group of travelling entertainers for the Capitol. She is a little gem I've been saving for a while now, and I'd love it if you'd check her out! Her reaping hasn't quite yet started, but the story has started and you can find the link to it on my profile. I've got to say a special thank you to arcticmist who has stuck to me this whole time, and a huge thank you to you for still being here! ^_^

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><p>"Kara? Kara?" My vision slowly blurs into focus and I find the flushed face of Zen leaning over me, hands shaking me firmly, the tight grip he's got onto my dragging me back into focus. "I just found you like this, lying on the floor. What happened? Are you okay?" Zen asks, and when I groggily look around I see why. The phone's been smashed off the wall like someone has wrenched it out of its socket and I'm lying, dazed on my kitchen floor. It could have been anyone, but I know exactly who it was. Me.<p>

"I'm fine," I say, brushing Zen's hand off with my own and shifting myself into a sitting position, my back propped against the table behind me.

"What happened?" Zen presses and I know I can't exactly ignore him.

"I slipped and grabbed the phone to steady myself only it came off, I must have knocked my head on the floor and became unconscious," I lie. I can't mention what actually happened as even I can't get my head around the fact. I see Zen's face turn sceptically towards the phone which looks like it has been stomped on and mauled completely, but eventually he gives me a sweet smile and a reassuring tug on the arm.

"Don't worry, you can talk to me."

"It's nothing Zen!" I snap, shifting to the side.

"Okay," Zen says eventually after a slight pause, "if you say it's nothing..."

"I just slipped, okay?" I huff, haul myself to my feet and march towards my room. "I'm going to stay in the rest of the day, tell the others to have that surprise dinner they planned without me. Now go!"

And leaving Zen flustered and red in the face, probably from embarrassment, I spring up the stairs and slam the door behind me when I get into my room, gasping to inhale the air around me, even though I have no valid reason to be out of breath. _No valid reason? President Snow wants me to turn into a prostitute!_

Trying to make some sense of the jumble of thoughts scraping around my head, I toss myself back onto my bed, experiencing a brief moment of calm as I soar through the air before a sudden jolt as I crash into the mattress, springing back again until eventually I am lying flat, the air sucked out of me.

He wants me to work for him as a prostitute. Suppose I refuse? Well then I'm sure my friends and family wouldn't make it for long. What if it's a mistake? A joke? Yes, that's it. It must be a sick, perverted joke that old presidents enjoy throwing. Maybe it's a warning, yes, that's it. He can't be seriously wanting me to sleep with men for money for him. Or women, I don't know who'd be paying.

_Stop it!_ It's not happening and that's final, but what about my family? I know it's not real, but still... it's not real. Okay Kara, just breathe in and out deeply and get control over yourself, it's simple really. They're not going to make you do anything, it's almost certainly not true, and if the millionth of a chance that it is turns out to be then you'll just have to refuse, President Snow can't _make _you do things you don't want to, president Snow can't make you do anything.

But already an alarm system is going off inside me screaming "liar! Liar!" because, whether I like it or not, President Snow has already made me kill other human beings, other children. President Snow's already made me a murderer. Perhaps this is just the next step.

A knocking on the door breaks me from my train of thought, but the person doesn't open the door. It's like they're waiting for me to answer, like they want me to at least acknowledge them. If I blank them they'll leave me alone. But the knocking just keeps on coming, in little bursts of taps. Eventually, with a heavy sigh escaping my lips, I pull myself off the bed and swing the door open, revealing the person on the other side.

"Zen?" I ask, surprised.

There is Zen, smiling sweetly at me, a soft smile tickling across his face. He stretches out a hand and I find it mould perfectly onto mine. He guides me down through the house. I don't know where we're going, I don't question him. I just let him lead me out of the house and of the victor's village, then out into the outskirts of district eight. I hear my name being called vaguely as a friend would to someone, but I just ignore them and let Zen lead me on, barely noticing I'm still barefoot and in my pajamas, barely noticing the cold as it prickles my skin, sending Goosebumps rippling across my limbs. I just let Zen's smooth hand lead me across the district.

I don't know how long it takes, or where we've gone, but I find myself being led into a tiny sort of shack, the rotting wood and decaying scent coming from it somehow refreshing, as if the mould were part of it, part of why it's important. And I don't know why, but the place somehow makes me happy and I feel a slight smile spread across my face, despite my current predicament.

"You like it?" Zen eventually says as we enter the room and I find a stained pile of bedding, yards of rope coiled into a corner and a messy stack of books piled up by a worn down green sofa.

"I like it, I love it," I manage to choke, suddenly finding my eyes are puffy and red and are suddenly stinging, but the pain isn't that bad and it soon lulls down as Zen collapses onto the worn green sofa and pats the space beside him, motioning for me to sit down. I can't help but notice that his hand is entwined with mine. I think about pulling it away but I decide against it, I need a friend to help me with things.

"You know Kara, this was my house, where I lived," says Zen eventually.

"In here?" I gasp, "isn't it a bit, well, you know, small, perhaps?"

"It's fine for me," Zen says, squeezing my hand tightly. "This was where I trained, you see..."

"You trained?" I ask.

"Yes, for the hunger games. I trained as a career."

"You what?" I gulp and jerk back, but still not yanking my hand away from his.

"I trained to be a career Kara, it was the only life I knew I guess. It was something I was good at, and while we're not a career district and I hate the hunger games as much as you do Kara, it was a way of life for me. A way I could make a living for myself. I was planning to volunteer when I was eighteen, but when my name was picked out of the reaping ball I just froze, then decided that I'd have to take my age for my advantage to win and pretended to be a wimp."

I find a smile creeping onto my face. "You didn't really need to pretend, you know," I snigger.

"Of course," Zen chuckles and then turns his eyes to me. "You know Kara, however hard it is to admit, I had a bit of a crush on you when you were in the hunger games."

I find my insides stiffen, but I manage to laugh it off as if it were all a joke. "Didn't all of the boys in the district? And anyway, that's past now." I say it as stating a fact rather than asking a question, not leaving any doors open. But somehow he manages to find one.

"If only that were true..."

Zen's face seems a little too close for comfort, and as it leans in towards mine I pull my head away, turning to the side and brushing him away. I feel his warm breath caressing my neck and something inside me desperately wants to turn back and meet him face on, but instead I take control of myself and back off.

"Sorry Zen, I'm just not your kind of girl," I say, bitterness suddenly riding over my tongue. So with a minute pause on my tail I leap to my feet, head to the door and then yank my hand away from his as if breaking a special connection, a special bond. And for the third time today I feel terribly alone.


	5. Too Late

**A/N: **Okay, I have another chapter of Final Strike for you. In this chapter I introduce a character I've been planning to use since the beginning of Shattered Hearts, so it's great to finally get him into play! ;D

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><p>The next week flies by like never before and soon I find myself waking up rather late on the day of the reaping, the day my troubles start all over. This is my last half a day of freedom, my last half a day I can use to direct myself as I please. What happened with Zen and what happened with President Snow still hangs over me like the dew in the fresh morning air, but I ignore it the best that I can and pull myself out of bed, a look of grim determination fixated on my face. I'll just have to get this day over with, and once it's done then I can go to the Capitol and try and get this all over with as soon as possible. Maybe, just maybe I could scoop up a victory like I did with Zen. But I know full well that couldn't possibly be true. One victor from district eight is rare enough, two in a row is past abnormal and having three is simply impossible. But still...<p>

"Lumina, please, I'm begging you!" The voice of a young boy rings from outside and I dash to the window, leaning slightly to see what's going on. Lumina's clutching to the side of the door desperately, blocking the boy that's trying desperately to plead with her. The boy's about Zen's age, maybe slightly older, with a mop of scruffy tawny brown hair and an underfed look about him. Yet still I can catch a vague glint of determination in his chestnut brown eyes.

"Stop it Renny," Lumina hisses, a look of pleading in her eyes. "I turned my back on you a long time ago."

"But mother's sick, what are we meant to do?" the boy, who I'm assuming is called Renny, pleads.

"It shouldn't be my problem," snaps Lumina in a way I never thought she would have ever used on a tone, especially at a boy who's evidently pleading for something important. I crane my neck further to catch what's going on.

"But Lumina-"

"Just go to the reaping Renny, they start in about twenty minutes and you don't want to be late. Anyway. I can't have you walking back into my life right now. I've got a new family now, a good family. I'm married, I have a son. You're disrupting things like this so just please leave me alone. I don't want black memories from the past to cloud my life now." Lumina slams the door shut in Renny's flustered face, and he suddenly starts banging desperately on the door, shouting "Lumina! Lumina!" But there's no reply from Lumina, and he's left out in the freezing cold. Eventually he pulls himself together and drags his heels off, giving a final desperate glance at Lumina and Hercules' house as if something magical could happen at any moment.

Thoughts flicker throughout my mind, wondering what that was all about. He seemed to be some sort of figure from Lumina's past, and she said she had a new family now. Who is that mysterious boy, Renny? And how come he was so desperate to talk to her, and how come Lumina shut him off like that? I've never seen her act so sharp before...

While I'm pondering all of this I absent-mindedly pull on an indigo top that cuts off just above my stomach. The thought of the word gives my body a huge jolt and my heart slams into the side of my ribcage in a sudden desperate plea to escape. Indigo... the colour reminds me of sweet little Indi. It's almost been a year now, a year since she died. I know you're not meant to get attached to your tributes now, because things like that happen, you have to lose them.

I reluctantly tug on some tight leggings made of some sort of lycra material which stretches so far down my legs they even mould around my feet. When I say reluctantly, I'm reluctant because all I have to cover the rest of my legs are two flaps of fabric strapped to the back and front of my legs which only go about half way to my knee. Basically it's a skirt the sides of it missing and leggings to fill in the gap. They told me I'd just have the indigo top and the matching half-skirt to wear, but I slipped on my black leggings as well, putting my foot down at last.

Ready to go, slipping on some hideous silver high heels that have been picked out for me by someone in the Capitol, I don't know who, maybe Ally or Zap, I stagger down the stairs, my hands firmly gripped onto the banister until I get downstairs. I was almost certain I was going to break my neck, the shoes I'm wearing and the size of the heels they boast.

I'm just about to leave the house when I see a note planted on the front doormat. My hand wavers slightly as I bend down to pick it up. I don't know what it is, all I know is that the words _Miss Kara Jaymond_ are scrawled onto the front of the crisp white note. My finger slides across the paper, lining the frame of it until I finally get around to ripping it open. I don't know what I expected, but I certainly didn't expect what I'm faced with. It's a single sentence, and I have a horrible gut feeling that I know exactly who it's from:

_Your mistake will cost you dearly._

President Snow. A shiver escapes down my spine. What mistake? No, actually I know exactly which mistake, when I hung up on him. And then broke the phone. I guess that's why I got a note, and also why the note reads those very words. But what exactly do they mean? I think I understand what the mistake is, but what will President Snow do about it? Maybe he'll have to talk to me, or something... I don't want to think about what it is he'll do. In fact, it might be one big mistake. Yes, that's it, it just has to be it.

"What's that Kara?"

I hurriedly crumple the letter into the palm of my hand and smile at the owner of the voice. I see the greying hair of my father and a slightly concerned look on his face.

"Oh, nothing. Just Lumina telling me where to meet her, probably didn't want me to wake up Kurt.

"Oh," my father says, then places his hand on my shoulder in what I think is meant to be a reassuring gesture, but it only seems to make me feel pressurised as I desperately want to tell him the truth, I want to tell him everything that's been going on n my life. President Snow's threats, Zen almost kissing me, and of course the imminent threat of mentoring in the hunger games looming over me. "Just do your best okay Kara, and don't feel pressurised to do anything you want to, okay?"

I know it's just him trying to tell me not to let them over-do the outfits or go wild on my supposed sexy theme, but I still feel a pang of guilt in my heart as if his words have a hidden meaning stored inside of them.

"Okay dad," I say, smiling inwardly as I notice that I called him dad again.

"Oh, you almost forgot this," dad smiles, hefting up a suitcase and passing it to me. I automatically accept it, knowing that I packed everything I needed in it last night.

"Thanks dad," I say, "Love you, see you in a couple of weeks then."

"Bye Kara, just do your best."

And with a half hearted wave and a slightly forced smile in my dad's direction I leap out of my house and only pause to rip up the piece of paper into little strips with jagged edges. Then I lift my hand up into the air and let the pieces of paper flutter away into the gushing wind, like releasing shards of my troubles to drift away from me. Only I can't get rid of problems with a simple flick of my hand like checking a cross in a box. Instead to get rid of problems I have to fight them. All I can think of at the moment is that thank goodness I'm good at fighting. I won the hunger games, this should be easy. I'll just go to the Capitol and see resident Snow later today to stop him doing anything too radical.

Little do I know that by then it will all be too late.


	6. Heck Am I Going To Find Out

**A/N: **Here's another rather quick update for you guys! I wrote this yesterday alongside the last one, realised that the chapter was so long it could make two chapters, decided to split it and here you are! Two really fast updates! ^_^

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><p>"Hi Kara," says a voice and I turn my head around to see Lumina walking towards me, a smile on her face unlike just half an hour ago. She's wearing a similar outfit to last year, a simple checked lime green and white dress with a lemon coloured bandana to keep her brown shoulder-length bob out of her eyes.<p>

"Hi Lumina," I reply as she joins me walking towards the square. I can tell by the stiffened lack of conversation that both of us are trying to hide something, me the message from President Snow and her, well, whoever that boy was today. But, even if it's a subject best left alone, I just have to know the truth.

"Hey Lumina, just wondering, I heard a noise from around your house about half an hour ago, like someone talking. But when I looked out of the window the noises had stopped and there was no-one there. Do you know what that was?"

It's a seemingly innocent question and she'll never be able to work out that I saw most of the conversation, but instead of the usual carefree reaction Lumina gives, or even a timid one, she stiffens. Her whole body goes rigid as she moves and she manages to choke out a startled reply.

"No, it must have been Cecelia."

"Okay," I say as if it was nothing, but I know to the contrary. It certainly is something, and something big at that.

"Kara, I'm sorry," Lumina says eventually into the silence and I whip my head around to meet her gaze immediately.

"What for?" I ask, waiting for her to come out and explain who that boy was and what he was doing there.

"It's just, Hercules and I don't feel comfortable going to the Capitol again this year. Now we've got Kurt, and things are getting settled. And four mentors is extravagant anyway, and you'll have Zen with you-"

"I understand," I say, firmly cutting Lumina off. And I do. If I had the chance of not having to do all of this mentoring then I'd definitely grasp it. I'm surprised Lumina didn't do it last year, though I suppose since Hercules had to go then she felt the need to be alongside him. We walk in silence to the district square from then on. I often feel like choking out some words about what's been going on in my life, but something always catches onto them at the last moment. And by the looks of things it seems exactly the same with Lumina.

By the time we get to the stage it looks like the reaping is already underway. I guiltily slink onto the stage as the mayor rounds to the end of his impossibly long speech and I find a few eyes trailing at both Lumina and myself, and a couple of glares too. The escort bounces on and I look up, expecting to see Debbie, but find myself staring at a stick thin, pale and blonde haired girl who can only be my age. She's wearing a baby blue dress which sticks to her figure like glue, enhancing the fact that she's so thin she looks almost starved, and she has matching silver high heels to me, as if the Capitol ran out of ideas.

"Err... hello everyone, I'm Ophelia Blue," she mutters, her face flushing at all the attention, though the Capitol accent is unmistakeable from the moment she opens her mouth. "And I'm district eight's new escort after the previous escort, Debbie Sparkle, err... got promoted."

I guess it makes sense. Two victors in a row, Debbie was bound to get promoted. But still, I do miss her. And something tells me this Ophelia girl is new to this job. She'll be useless at signing up sponsors and talking to people like she's meant to, in fact all she'll end up doing is getting in my way, and the way of my tributes.

"So, I guess we're meant to start picking the tributes, right?" Ophelia murmurs, glancing back to us victors for support. I see that Woof, Cecelia and Zen are already here, and I came with Lumina. After giving a brief nod of confirmation I turn to Lumina.

"Where's Hercules?" I hiss under my breath.

"He got permission to stay in the crowd with Kurt, rather than go up to the stage," whispers Lumina back to me. I'm sure the cameras all around the square are analysing our conversation ready to make comments on, but I still needed to know. I guess it's a good thing that Kurt's not up here, that would just widen wild speculation. People in our district know that Lumina and Hercules are married, but it's not a widely known fact throughout the rest of Panem.

"Well, I suppose it's traditional to do the girls first," murmurs Ophelia and dips her hand into the female reaping ball. Her pink face is flushed with all of this attention and she hurriedly wrenches the piece of paper out of her the ball, her hand clammy with sweat. All of this is attention evidently pressurising her. Serves her right, willingly entering the loop of the hunger games. Then again, Zap willingly entered the loop, as did Ally and Debbie. I guess the only other people who aren't willing are the tributes and the mentors. And then Alder as well I guess, the Avoxes.

"Our female tribute is Heather Thatcher," Ophelia stutters and a figure steps out of the eighteen year-old crowd in response. Her brown hair is sliced back into a scruffy ponytail and her grey eyes somehow match with her fairly tanned skin. I notice as she starts to ascend to the stage, her face scrunched up in concentration, that there's a large gash in the back of her crisp white reaping shirt and a stinging red back bitten across it. It seems that she's got into a fight or something, the blood streaking down her back from the gash about the length of an outstretched palm. There's a slight gasp from the district as they see her back as she ascends the stage. I know they'll think she's tough now, now that she's got a mark like that on her back. Even if she didn't receive it in a fight, she's already got a foot in the door just because of that. I just hope it heals in time, that's all. But with the Capitol medicine I'm sure it will. Heather steps up onto the stage and backs up so she's standing by Cecelia, opposite from me I notice.

"Shall we go onto the boy, then?" Ophelia says and hurriedly dashes to the male reaping ball, almost stumbling on the stage. What a klutz, I thought district eight would have maybe been thought of as a better district now we've won twice in a row. She drops her finger into the orb and snatches the entry on the upmost peak, then spreads it open like a bird stretching its wings. "Our male tribute is Renny Carter," she says in a rush, gabbling the words out. Renny Carter? Those two words seem oddly familiar, and it only takes me a hurried glance at the boy who steps forward with a gulp from the sixteen year-old section to know why.

That tawny brown hair, those chestnut brown eyes; that face that seems to be holding a composition of absolute shock. Combined with the way Lumina seems to have gone stiffer than ever. Yes, there's no doubting it. This is the boy Lumina was talking to earlier, the boy that seems to mean an awful lot to her yet she still denies it. I don't know exactly what's going on, but heck am I going to find out.


	7. Does Anyone Know What To Do?

**A/N: **Sorry guys, my laptop broke again since the last time I updated. Twice. But here's a chapter. ;)

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><p>I pace back and forth on the train, two sets of fresh eyes staring worryingly at me, no idea what they're meant to be doing and relying on me to sort them out – one set of sharp green and another an icy blue. And no, I'm not talking about Renny and Heather, our two tributes; I'm talking about Ophelia and Zen, a new mentor and a new escort. And they're both looking at me for help.<p>

I thought if this day ever did come it would have been at least ten years into the future when I'd be piled up with experience so I'd practically be a huge blob of hunger games experience, but here I am, only having survived one year of being a mentor in the hunger games, and I'm the one on our team with the most experience. To shift the look of bewilderment gazing at me I hastily turn my eyes to the window, the early morning frost lacing the glass, drawing dainty scenes of icy hills and fresh meadows dipped in dew. A sharp click of some fingers brings me back to my senses and Zen is frantically clicking at me, trying to get me focus on the job at hand. Okay, I have to seem professional at this, highly professional. I have to know what I'm doing and understand absolutely everything that happens. I have to be assertive, one step ahead of the game, or rather, _games_. And whatever happens I have to be helpful, respected and most importantly of all – in control.

"So, any of you have any idea about what we're meant to be doing?" I ask offhandedly, the words slipping out before I can stop them. And as if things weren't bad enough that's when Renny and Heather step in, eyes huffily lined with red from their goodbyes. And also probably from what they heard me say. Whoops...

"Let's start with some basic information," I chip into the livid silence after too many seconds past the awkward barrier, brushing my fine blonde hair out of my face with the back of my hand. "We should go around the circle, saying a little bit about ourselves. You know, to get to know each other."

"Well, how do we start?" a voice chirps up and I see the icy blue eyes of Ophelia shaking slightly with her fresh and pale arms, skinny as a twig.

"I'll start it off," I say, a smile creeping onto my face. "My name's Kara, Kara Jaymond. I'm seventeen years old, from district eight, a victor of the seventieth hunger games. I fight with a knife primarily, though can handle other things. I have two main themes for styling, rich and sexy, although I don't personally think about myself like the conceited snob I have to present myself as. My father's the retired deputy head peacekeeper; my mother died a couple of years before I was reaped. She was murdered by some people who came to kill my father, but ended up killing her instead. Then there was my half sister, Vivian. She was reaped in the hunger games with me, but didn't make it. I'm supposedly interested in fashion. Oh yes, and I haven't got a boyfriend currently." At the end I launch a slight wink in Zen's direction, causing both his and Renny's cheeks to burn up a bright tomato red. There's a slight pause as everyone seems to take things in, until Zen's voice speaks up into the beckoning silence.

"Well I'm Zen Strike, fifteen going on sixteen in a few weeks. District eight, victor of the seventy-first hunger games. My weapon's rope, and it won't do you any good to underestimate it. My theme for styling seemed quite stuttering and innocent, an easy kill. I don't know what I'm going to be presented as now though. My family, well, I'd rather not speak about that. I don't really have many hobbies, though I could say it's buying Kara "I heart Zen" merchandise, which is quite the rage in the Capitol. And I also am available, if any of you are interested."

To my surprise my cheeks start to turn red and I manage to catch both Ophelia's and Heather's cheeks burn up as well like the weather on a warm day.

"Your turn," I quickly nudge Ophelia and her face turns from a sort of soft tomato red to a bright scarlet that burns throughout her face.

"Err... well, my name's Ophelia Blue. I'm your new escort, my first time at escorting. I'm seventeen as well, and I like the colour blue. Hence the clothes and such, you know? And, well, my family's a normal Capitol family I suppose. Well, it was. But my parents, they were reporters, left for district one to report something and I've been living with my grandfather for three years. I'm interested in reporting, that's why I became a hunger games escort I guess. I was working as a journalist and one day I get a phone call from President Snow, pulling me out and placing me as the escort. And, well, I don't have a boyfriend either. I don't think."

"You don't think?" Zen chuckles and Ophelia quickly darts her face around, the pale complexion she supports still flushed with red with embarrassment.

"You want to go then?" I prompt Heather, letting a slight smile take over my face.

"Heather Thatcher," she says, bobbing her head downwards, "Eighteen years-old, district eight. I don't know about fighting, or presentation styles for me. My parents work in a factory making peacekeeper clothing, as do my three elder brothers and two elder sisters. I'm from a family of ten, you see? There's my two parents Satin and Stitch, three elder brothers Thread, Arran and Lewis. Then my two elder sisters Lola and Rain, me and my two younger brothers, Cedar and Vaughn. That's about it for my family, really. And no, I don't have a boyfriend. And I don't need one."

"If you don't mind Heather," I say, a gulp embracing my mouth, "where exactly did you get that slash across your back?"

"Oh that?" Heather says, her face paling slightly at the mention of it, "I had a bit of an accident while using one of the factory machines last night, and this morning I re-opened the wound. Don't worry about it."

"Okay then, I'm sure Ophelia will know something to patch you up with," I say, causing Ophelia's face to muddle with confusion.

I notice the milky cream carpet under my feet and the blood red walls wrapping around us, consuming us inside the train as if we had just been swallowed up by some giant beast. The silence that has wrapped around us is suitably spooky, but Zen's the one who breaks it.

"So Renny, Renny Carter is it? Tell us a bit about yourself."

Zen doesn't seem to have picked up on the whole Lumina and Renny thing, and I find just the words Zen let slip burn a huge hole in my thoughts. Renny seems to bristle slightly, but eventually he opens his mouth and starts to explain.

"Renny Carter's my name, I'm fifteen and also from district eight. I'm not sure about the hunger games stuff to be perfectly honest though. I haven't got many hobbies or even friends, least of all a girlfriend, all I really have is my family. My father died before even I was born, leaving my mum to fend for herself, and the part of the family she could afford. To feed the son she had inside her stomach, dad's last legacy, she chucked my elder sister onto the street. I think she understood at the time, or at least I hope she did. Anyway, that left me with eight older siblings, seven living with me, being the youngest of the family. I'm the little boy my elder sister was chucked out for. I took up a job when I was ten, lying about my age so they thought I was twelve. I don't think they believed me, but they let me work anyway. Everyone had to pull their weight in my family, even me. Now all my other siblings have moved away, gotten married, moved to their own place, two of them even died. It just left me and my slowly aging mother. And the rest of the family didn't care, I tried them all. Every single one of them. I tried Lucius and Frankie, Nylon and Pepper, I even went up to Hazel. But finally I had to face the one remaining sibling left, the one who had been chucked out for me. She's living a life of luxury. So I went to plead to her, only just this morning. And of course she said no, it was me that got her chucked out of her home after all. Yes, me. And I really feel sorry for my sister, I do. I really feel sorry for Lumina Carter."


	8. Something Positive

**A/N: **Sorry it's been a while, my laptop still has not ceased breaking all of this time. But I have churned out another chapter for you to read, and quite a long one at that. While not much happens, things will soon, and I hope you enjoy it. ;)

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><p>The look on Zen's face is the kind of thing you'd want to take three pictures of; one to frame and hang on your wall, one to use as some serious blackmail if ever the need occurs, and the final one to sell to the joke card industry and make a fortune. Unfortunately, no matter how much I wish I have, I don't have a camera on me so I have to let the look of total and utter surprise slip off Zen's face, the possibility of becoming a millionaire overnight vanquished.<p>

"Lumina's your sister?" I gawp suddenly, the satisfaction of Zen's surprised face postponing the expression on my face to match his. Renny is Lumina's brother, Lumina is Renny's sister... it's starting to make a strong wave of nausea sweep over me.

"Err... who is this Lumina girl?" asks Ophelia and Zen and I whip around to face her, glowers of pure evil sweeping over her features.

"'This Lumina girl'," Zen starts for me.

"Is the most amazing-" I add.

"Highly intelligent."

"Kind and courteous."

"Generally fantastic."

"Most friendly and caring."

"Flabbergastingly beautiful."

"Mentor in district eight after myself, of course," I say, a smile possessing my features.

There's quite a possessive pause as everyone stares at each other, trying not to break the awkward silence which seems to have built up around us.

"Well, that silence is promising," I say with a grin and then open the door of the compartment, sliding out of the room. "Zen, you fill them in with the basics." And, chuckling at myself as Zen's face goes bright red with confusion as three sets of eager eyes blink at him, waiting to be filled with knowledge, I find myself walking down the train with a spring to my step and I reach a halt at a cabin reading 'Kara Jaymond', which happens to be directly opposite to one which has the words 'Zen Strike' plastered onto it. I know exactly what my train compartment looks like, and by popping my head around the door I'm presented by the familiar deep purple covers on the silver framed bed, the frame in the decoration of intricate flowers and vines, entwining themselves around each other as if they were trying to weave themselves into a net for protection.

I back out of my room and turn around to see the tempting wooden structure of a door, his door. I wonder what's inside. I didn't know what was inside mine before I went in, and what he's got hidden inside his will give me a hint to what his so-called hobby is. So, with a reluctant shrug I sneakily creep towards his door, hurriedly glancing in either direction to assure myself I'm safe, then I press myself up to his door, before hurriedly yanking it open, almost ripping it off its hinges in the process. And when I gradually force myself to open my eyes, I find myself confronted with a room full of "I heart Kara" merchandise, t-shirts with the slogan pinned around the walls, but not enough to cover up the "I heart Kara" wallpaper, the floor a giant void of colours, soon to be discovered as a huge picture of my face, the bedcovers smothered in every single word I ever said in my hunger games, the lampshades shaped like my triple ring. I gasp as I notice that replicas of my outfits are in the "I heart Kara" wardrobe as the door is swung open. As I raise my head to the ceiling, expecting to see a plain sheet white brushed paint ceiling, instead I find a huge close-up of my lips. The room is a quilt of pictures of me, quotes from me, outfits I've worn, the tokens I've possessed, the tributes I've killed, and most importantly – the "I heart Kara" symbols that smother the whole room. And I haven't even seen the bathroom yet...

Yeah right.

In fact the room's pretty plain, a mousse brown floor and cream walls, with that brushed white ceiling I was expecting to see. His bed's a simple wooden frame, with a sort of deep chocolate brown lining on the cream covers. His furniture is sparse, but I pick up an alarm clock that looks like the old fashioned ones, only it's surrounded by a box of something that looks like wicker and his wardrobe is just of a plain wooden build, the caramel colour of the wood with the odd dark swirly patch of the deeper shade, giving it a sort of rippling effect. I'm just thinking it's a bit plain for the Capital when I notice the usually wooden skirters at the bottom of the wall, that wooden panelling section between the wall and the floor, but they're not made out of wood, but the entwined mass that is rope. I look around the room more carefully and see it skirting everything, the bed, the wardrobe; even the alarm clocks supposed wicker is actually a light coloured rope.

Only noticing now that I'm probably intruding his personal space, I manage to back out of the room and close the door just in time as Zen clatters open the train door and crashes into the very same corridor I'm standing guiltily by his room, a sheepish flash in my eyes. Luckily Zen doesn't seem to notice, and he seems more interested in the blood red carpet and the crisp golden walls, dazzling throughout the train, to be looking at me.

"H-hey Kara," Zen says, a small stutter starting to spread through his voice, "I think dinner is meant to be in an hour or so, so maybe you should get ready."

"Of course," I say, grinning in reply, and dart as quick as I can into my room, slamming it after me, a quick succession of pants racking through my body, a small smile threading its way across my face. I just went into Zen's room! Wait just one cloth threading second... why did I care? It's just Zen's room, not like it's a real celebrity or anything. I find my hand automatically guiding me to my "I heart Zen" mug and stroking it slightly as if a comfort vice. Okay, so maybe he is a celebrity. But so am I, and anyway, it's not like I even like him. He likes me, I think he's cute but as a follower, I suppose. As a friend, that's all. He's fifteen and I'm seventeen. _Sixteen in a few weeks... _I just manage to stop myself. I don't like where this train of thought is bringing me, so I pull myself away from the "I heart Zen" mug which is for some reason placed on my bed side table. It's if I want a drink at night, that's all. Not because I want it close to me or anything...

"Outfits!" I shout out loud and spring out of my daze, rushing towards my wardrobe. I manage to tug them open and find myself confronted with a horrendous sight... again.

"Damn it!" I yell, and then decide that since President Snow's probably watching this tape, that it wasn't exactly the reaction he would have wanted, I quickly smother my mistake up as soon as possible, "There aren't any of my designs in here, I was hoping there would be some."

Choosing my actions (and my clothes) very carefully, I pick through the layers of skimpy outfits after skimpy outfits, trying to find something at least half decent. When I'm just about to give up I find that aquamarine blue dress that ripples like the sea that Indi gave me last year hurriedly shoved in the back of the wardrobe where I must have hidden it last year. With a sigh of relief I tug it out smugly while imaging President Snow's reaction as something he definitely didn't want me to wear goes right onto me. I just love myself like this, devious and all.

I whip into it as soon as possible, thankful to get out of these hideous reaping clothes that make me look like a prostitute, and then hurry down the corridor to get to the compartment where a lavish spread of food has been set out. I'm just going over what I just thought, and then remember what I've tried so desperately to swipe out of my mind, a prostitute, that very well might be what President Snow wants. Well, he's certainly not getting it, is he? If there's one thing he needs to learn is that Kara Jaymond plays by her own rules. But deep down I know that it's not true.

I take my seat opposite Heather, her gangly figure absent-mindedly fiddling with the daintily laced tablecloth, and Ophelia not even scolding her for it, looking longingly out of the window. She's certainly a lot different than Heather. I bite my lip slightly, mentally scolding myself for the habit straight afterwards, then slowly drift my hands towards the closest thing to me, a weird sort of pastry. I asked Alder about it once, he said it was a buttered croissant. Well, that's what he wrote anyway. I don't know exactly how it's pronounced. I dip my hand forwards and swipe the croissant off the table then, testing Ophelia, cram it into my mouth in one fell swoop. And she doesn't even bat an eyelid. I cough loudly, to check she's looking at me, and right as I want her face swivels slightly in my direction, then I cram another croissant in my mouth. No reaction. I even picked the croissant because it's meant to be a breakfast food, as Debbie told me. I'm about to speak up when Zen and Renny march into the room side-by-side. I was expecting some height difference, what with Zen being a victor and all, but if anything Renny's slightly taller than Zen as they march in a pair towards the table, then both symmetrically sink into their chairs.

There's an awkward pause as everyone turns to the food in front of them, and then lunges at the table. Or rather, I lunge at the table while everyone else picks fussily at the food around them. What's wrong with these people? I know they're upset, but food is food, and from what it looks like they're both pretty much from the starving part of eight, so why so fussy? I cram in morsel after morsel of food, trying to ignore the polite atmosphere the rest have built up in silence, until I honestly can't eat any more.

"I'm going now Zen." I sigh deeply into the empty silence, leaning towards Zen slightly in a bit of a whisper, "I want to turn in early. But when I'm gone try and say something positive to them, something that will convince them they're doing well."

"Something positive?" Zen questions with a grin, "Like what you told me when I just came on the train?"

"Yes, precisely like that," I answer and get up, scraping my chair backwards as I head off down the train, lingering slightly by the door just before I exit for Zen to talk to the tributes.

"You're going to die!" exclaims Zen cheerily to the pair of tributes, and as Heather and Renny break down into floods of tears, evidently the silence having being the only thing keeping the pair of them upright, he manages to catch my eye as I leave the room and send a flirtatious wink in my direction, causing me to chuckle. Maybe Zen's more like me than I thought.


	9. Because Of Me

**A/N: **Sorry I've taken so long to update, but hey, it's been Christmas. I've had relatives over and still have a pile of work to complete. Not to mention this new 24 tributes story I've joined (which is amazing - check out the details on my profile. ;D). So yup, but I wanted to get this update out to you before 2012 starts. Well, for me anyway. I've only got two hours left of 2011 (I had three but I had to finish off writing this chapter for you lot), and I just wanted to pay a little tribute to the year that has passed. You know, I started the Gnawing Hunger Series earlier this year, and it really has uplifted not just my fanfiction status around here, but my life as well. Yes, my real life. I mean, how many other people, especially teens, can say that they've written a book - let alone two and are on their third? Sure, it's a fanfiction series - but hey, that doesn't make it any less real, does it? I've accomplised so much, and all thanks to you lot - the readers. Those few select people who have had the patience to sit through all of this of mine and read it. And I'm so thankful for you lot, you've made me feel like I've accomplised something (which I have thank-you-very-much) and you've just really helped me out just through reading this conveying of my emotions and spurring me on through my writing. So thank you. And I never have dedicated a chapter of my writing before, yes, never (unless you count dedicating it to a fictional character) so I'd like to dedicate this chapter to you - yes, you! The ugly one sitting at the computer screen! ;D Nah, you're not ugly. And you might be on a phone... but still, if you're reading this I thank you for reading this, and if you're not then you can't hear me call you a &*/!^% ... *ahem*. So thank you and I hope you enjoy the chapter, I have a surprise in store for you! ;)

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><p>"Come on you two, you're holding all of us up," I whine at the two tributes in front of me. Renny's scruffy looking hair seems to submerge the rest of his face, like he's trying to cover himself up from view, and Heather has done the exact opposite as has scraped back her dark hair out of her face as if to try and wipe the slate clean.<p>

"Sorry," murmurs Renny as I shuffle down the train, Renny and Heather tailing me and Zen by my side. I hate having to admit it, but his slender figure slipping through the train looks rather attractive in this light. But I snap myself out of it. While Zen and I are both the legal guardians of Kurt if something should happen to Hercules and Lumina and rather good friends, that's about as far as our relationship goes. The hunger games may have bonded up past compare, but bonding as friends is all it is. Besides, he's fifteen and I'm seventeen. That age difference at this age is just... wrong. Something in my mind is niggling me that Zen will be sixteen in a few weeks, and it's only just over a year's age difference, but I slash that thought from my mind and focus on getting to the cabin in the train.

"Now, the replays are starting in about an hour or so," Zen explains gently, "so I thought the television choice for the hour is all up to you two."

"They can choose?" I ask with disbelief until Zen shoots me a look. I suppose it's saying something along the lines on _they're going into the hunger games in about a week. Of course they can choose_. "Of course they can choose," I say brightly when I realise the jist of what he's saying; mimicking the words I imagined his look to have said. After having two tributes from district eight in a row and with President Snow on my back, of course none of them will make it out of the arena alive. I might as well be nice to them now, it very well be one of the last acts of compassion they receive.

The five of us walk into the compartment where the television is kept awkwardly, each sitting down onto the sofa long enough for ten of us. I, of course, do more of a collapse than a simple sit and relax into the soft folds of fabric, enjoying the sheer comfort of the Capitol. I only get this once a year; I might as well enjoy it as best as I can. When I say five I mean me, Zen, Heather, Renny and Ophelia. Don't ask me why Ophelia's tagging along, she probably has nothing better to do.

"Maybe we could watch up on what they're saying about the hunger games at the moment, we might see something useful," inputs Heather and I manage to somehow squeeze out a soft smile.

"Sure thing," I say gently and snatch the remote out of Zen's keen hand just as he picks it up, pressing firmly down on the power button as the TV jumps into life in a matter of milliseconds.

"Wow, that's so cool. Our TV at home takes about ten minutes to warm up every time," says Heather.

"Obviously, when you're from a poor background that's always the case," I snap, and then realise how horrible I must have sounded. Zen gives me another look as Heather dips her head as if in shame and then turns his face back to the TV. I consider apologising, then just realise it will just make the situation tougher for me if I do, so I just shut up and turn to the crystal clear TV, not a flicker in sight.

The commentator on-screen is waffling on and on about the hunger games, going on a bit like our mayor. Is it me, or are all of the mayors of the districts as boring as the next? Droning constantly about the dark days and how Panem was formed and how wonderful the Capitol is for enslaving us all. It makes me sick to just think about, but I hold in the bubbling feeling brewing in my stomach and turn my attention back to the screen as it continues to show a patchwork of images to do with each district. It looks like they've been going through each district one-by-one, talking about the mentors and the escorts. Anything but the tributes, for the replays are later on in just under an hour and most of the Capitol citizens won't watch anything in the morning as they just simply won't be up. I mean, I've had my days but I've always got up in the morning unless I'm ill, but that's another matter. It seems at the moment we're just nearing the end of district four, and to be perfectly honest I'm glad of it. I wasn't planning on having to stare at the faces of all of the hideous career mentors and escorts, snarling as they boast about ripping all of the tributes in the arena limb from limb just with their teeth. Ignoring the horrible shiver down my spine when such images come to my head, I turn to the screen and see as a final flash of images come across, depicting the mentors for this year. And, quite as I had expected, it's exactly the same duo from last year. That bloodhound, I believe her name was Gloria, and the same old flirty Finnick Odair beaming through at the cameras form the other side of the screen. Oh yes, it never ceases to amaze me how many times he's successfully managed to get on my nerves.

Yawning even more, I watch half heartedly as the districts flash by, waiting to see if there's anyone I recognise. To my absolute dismay Whitney's there in district six, alongside that ancient balding man who's her district partner, what little hair he has left a definite grey. Only the money of being a victor keeping him alive. No wonder Whitney flirts so much, if she's stuck with only him as a neighbour all year around. Johanna's still there for seven, this time with some middle aged dude called Blight, who half heartedly smiles for the cameras as Johanna's glares just can't be covered up through the extensive amount of editing the picture has been through. Then it reels onto district eight, and I can't help feel that I won't be described any better than Johanna. And when they called her a moody bat, an extensive insult for the Capitol, I can't help but worry what they'll call me. Especially since this commentator seems a bit light on the tongue this year, insulting us victors.

"Kara Jaymond, total cow."

Well, I admit it could have gone better, but after whining about how the oldest person in our team this year is eighteen and we have less experience than a pickled gherkin (first of all – I'm highly experienced, and second of all – what the heck is a pickled gherkin?) I have a feeling that the "I heart Zen" t-shirts this year were short lived. A worrying thought strikes my mind – what if it's President Snow? _No, _I reassure myself, _President Snow wouldn't dig this far into Capitol TV just to get to me_. But something deep inside me is screaming out that I'm wrong. Shaking off that horrid layer of guilt, I'm cheered up to see Dizzy's short ink blue hair covering what she can of her face in the district nine section. I'm not one to get too emotional, but I really am happy that Dizzy is here. District ten's the same couple of weird grandparents, and this time in district eleven I see the pair Chaff and Seeder Haymitch mentioned. And then we go onto Haymitch. Well, I can certainly say what the commentator says about him certainly brightens up my mood, and reassures me that it can't be President Snow when they're blatantly being rude about every mentor here. Not usually the Capitol's style, but hey, at least this TV snob makes things a little more exciting around here.

"And now for the tributes!" the TV announces boldly, and everyone looks left and right expectantly, staring at everyone else's expressions. Everyone but me that is, I just find my grip tightening around the covers of the sofa, and then a shock as a rough hand land on top of mine reassuringly. I look up to see Zen putting on a brave face. Keeping up appearances, I glare at him. But I don't tug my hand away from him. Even the invincible Kara Jaymond needs some support once in a while.

District one and two are much the same. For one a seventeen year-old girl with hair like a raven's and a sharp face like one too steps up, glaring at the eighteen year-old boy looming over her. He just shrugs it off charismatically, his sleek blonde hair and tanned skin nothing quite like his dazzling white smile that he shoots at the district. He looks like a right charmer. If he wins I suppose he and Finnick will get along just fine. District two's similar, but not identical. A girl with hair like straw both in the texture and the colour steps up from the seventeen year-old section, ruthlessly shoving an athletic eighteen year-old girl aside as if she were batting away a fly with total indifference. Next to her stands an olive skinned boy with a mop of black hair sweeping across his face. He wouldn't have appeared that good looking if the white shirt he was wearing wasn't wet through revealing a hardened six-pack underneath, making girls swoon everywhere. Okay, so this guy is fit but he's only sixteen. He's at a mighty age disadvantage.

"Not as impressive as yours," I giggle, nudging Zen, before realising what just slipped out of my mouth. Ophelia, Renny and Heather's heads all simultaneously swivel around to look at me in disbelief. Okay, so maybe I just implied Zen and I had been naked together. That's not exactly one of the best early impressions you can give off, is it?

"He only took his top off!" I gulp, realising how that almost sounded even worse. Deciding to depend on the TV to cover up my mistake, I hurriedly jack up the volume to drown out the dirty thoughts that I'm wading around. Why does something sound alright in your head, and then when you say it then it just turns out to be the completely wrong thing to say?

"District three, the land of nuts, bolts and levers," says the cheery voice of the commentator and the reaping ensues until two helpless children are dragged up to the stage, ready to be put to the slaughter. The first is a lanky fifteen year-old boy with matted brown hair dangling down around his face all the way down to his elbows, and a glare that could shoot down the cameramen. He's soon followed by a scrawny and underfed girl shaking like a leaf with smooth black hair carefully combed back out of her face and glasses propped on her nose, shielding the tears from view as best as they can.

And then district four comes on, the same district that has been cursed for me since I can ever remember. And this year is no exception. For the two tributes whose names are scooped out of the reaping bowl are the twelve year-old twins Barely and Rye Hurling. Dral's only remaining brother and sister. And right there I know that Snow has done this. Done this because of me.


	10. Stopped In My Tracks

**A/N: **It was hard for me to write this, really hard. And not just because this chapters brimming with description and it was hard to place everyone's feelings, but I hate myself for what I've done to the character at the end. But I think Kara just needs a sharp jolt at the moment. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this rather scary chapter of Final Strike (the first chapter of the Gnawing Hunger Series in 2012) and that you don't get freaked out too much and notice the eerie underlying message.

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><p>I barely wait for the train to pull into the Capitol station before leaping off and slamming onto the platform, whilst Zen stands anxiously by the threshold of the train, waiting for the silver bullet to screech to a halt. Leaving Heather and Renny to Zen, I charge on forwards and storm through what I suppose is meant to be some sort of reception committee, shoving a rather podgy looking Capitol photographer aside in angst.<p>

The single photo he snaps depicts a wild and crazed seventeen year-old girl, her golden blonde hair streaking behind her as her blazing blue eyes point forward in determination, an angered grimace stuck on her face. Her rippling blue dress fluttering behind her, the foam on it licking the sea it creates, embracing the wild call of the barren tide. At a first glance the dress looks out of place, streaming behind this upfront warrior, a picture of beauty, But the deeper you look into the photo the more you see the raging torrents and wild storms battling across the deep blue dress rippling after her as she charges forth into battle.

I barely looked on as the rest of the tributes were selected, the usual lot really, I didn't even blink at the gasp made by the commentators as Heather's raw and stretched wound was shown to the awed audience. All I could do was shut down my mind to the darkness and imagine my vengeful hands wrapping themselves around President Snow's tender neck and squeezing gently and then harder and harder as the subtle choking overlaps into a frantic scrabble for his life as he and everything he has done can simply be squished by a further pressing of my hands. I didn't say anything at all, just simply sat there, silent, until the train pulled up near the Capitol. Then I stood, forced the door open with a fired shove and leapt out at the platform. Because this time President Snow's gone too far, this time President Snow is going to pay.

"Kara! Kara, stop!" Zen pulls in front of me, panting, and he pushes his arms onto my shoulders, trying to stop me in my tracks as I stride meaningfully across a street in the Capitol, all of my radars pointing right where I'm going – President Snow's mansion. He's probably left Renny and Heather behind with Ophelia, since I can't see them here as he takes a tight grip on my shoulders in an attempt to stop me. Of course that doesn't work, and I just continue striding determinedly towards President Snow's mansion, a look of bitter revenge fixated on my face. "I don't know what's going through your head right now, but it's not anyone else's fault and it's certainly not yours," Zen pleads, his attempt at reasoning me as he desperately walks backward, his hands still gripped determinedly on my shoulders, not one that works.

"That's where you're wrong Zen," I snap, then push him aside forcefully with my right arm, shoving him into a nearby Capitol building. As he staggers backwards in a worried daze I build up my pace until it reaches a frenzied yet constant run as I press forwards towards the mansion. This is it, this is the final straw. First he got Juniper reaped last year, probably as a pre-warning, and then he brought Lumina into this using Renny. And now with Barley and Rye… he's torn that family apart. Dral's family. All to get to me. All to break me down so I'd become some sick sort of prostitute. Well I'm afraid to break this to you, Snowy, but this nut is a lot harder to crack than you originally thought. And the next person who dies because of your demented actions isn't going to be me or anyone I care about.

Instead of tears, instead of a breakdown of frenzied sobbing, instead all I can feel is a bitter determination to throttle his neck until his body collapses, wheezing and on the brink of death. But I wouldn't kill him then, then I'd rip up his work on his nation of Panem, his family, his co-workers, anyone he cared about ever, his puny and insignificant life torn into tiny shreds right before his eyes. In revenge. And then, and only then, I'd kill him. Slowly. Then he'd deserve what he got. Then he'll deserve what he gets.

The burning pain in my legs is unmistakable, but I ignore it. It's the kind of pain I felt all too well in the arena, and I know I've been running too fast for too long. It's been what, ten minutes, at full sprint? I know it's only natural to feel tired, but I still am cursing myself internally as I slightly lower my run into a quick jog in reluctance, it's not like President Snow's going anywhere, is it? My teeth grit in determination, but at the same time I find myself automatically biting my lip, an automatic anxious reflex of mine. I look down at myself, and while I know I'm running I can still tell I'm shaking. In fear? I shouldn't be afraid of this man, he should be afraid of me. He's going to pay oh so much for this, and if anyone should be trembling it should be him, as his life's about to come to a sudden and abrupt end. And so I forge my way on through the winding and blissfully unaware streets of the Capitol, never one ripping my eyes away from the prize – President Snow's life. Over.

"Don't."

The word calls out of the shadows beside me, the soft and spluttering voice chilling me to my bone. It's as if I recognise it faintly, but it's changed. It's morphed from whatever I have stored in my brain. But a whole lot of things have changed. Steadying myself for what I suddenly feel is a terrible fate, I suck my breath in and manage to cool my shaking nerves by relaxing my muscles from their tense state before angrily flicking my head to the side, a sneer of distaste and disgust fixed on my face as if someone has just insulted me. And as my face turns to face the person that called me and my eyes adjust to the shadows, the look immediately drops from my face. I rush towards the shivering figure left behind in the shadows, unable to quite gather around her, wishing, hoping, praying, that it isn't who I think it is. But I know deep down that it is.

My shaking arms clasp around her, not able to believe what I'm seeing. I know her, I know it's her. But it can't be, how could this have happened? How can she have turned up like this? Where there was a shine in her eyes there is now nothing but a dull, flittering gaze as if focused on nothing but a wild dream hidden behind her battered and drooping eyelids. Where there were juicy and irresistible lips there now only remains a cracked shell, bloodied clumps of ripped skin with jagged edges containing the appearance of being continually chewed which has been shamefully hidden inside the mouth. Where there were rosy red cheeks and a cheeky smile there only stands paper white skin and a bare, hollow expression, the colour and life drained from her very soul. And where there was that feathery layered shock white hair, perfectly maintained and styled, an essence of her extravagant lifestyle, only a tangled clump of mousey grey brown dangles shamefully from her head. I look up to her shivering and frightened body, the croak of a word having just left her mouth in fright, and I feel a lone tear well in my eye, even though we were never one to get on.

"Don't," she repeats again more forcefully, her voice cracked and broken as a racking cough splutters out of her mouth afterwards, yellowed teeth struck wonkily in her mouth like rotting food, dangling in there as if by a bare thread, horrifically different from her gleaming white teeth that would shine like the moonlight, brightening up a lonely traveller's way in the darkest of hours. And I can tell from her fragile and broken position, her bent and withered body, that what I've been thinking about can't be. Yes, all the anger I've been storing, all the hatred I've been holding, all the murder I've been brewing. Her word, for whatever it's worth, is going to stop me right in my tracks. Because she knows exactly what it's like to stand up against President Snow by the looks of it, and from her ghostly transition I can tell that it's not in her footsteps I want to follow.

"What have they done to you?" I whisper, swallowing her name back into my throat. And slowly, forcefully, I drag it out into the light, and I can tell by her reaction I'm completely right.


	11. Promises Can Be Broken

**A/N: **Two days in a row, I'm really getting into the swing of this. Anyway, I hope you enjoy today's update guys - chapter 11, Promises Can Be Broken. I promise we'll get onto the main bit soon enough, I just need to add these little chapters. Anyway, I wouldn't say that nothing is happening here. ^_^

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><p>"<em>What have they done to you?" I whisper, swallowing her name back into my throat. And slowly, forcefully, I drag it out into the light, and I can tell by her reaction I'm completely right. "Whitney."<em>

_The shell of Whitney looks up at me, her eyes somehow managing to focus on my face. "Kara. Don't," she says, and then collapses into my arms, her frail figure shaking in exhaustion._

Finnick turns to me, his eyes blazing with protectiveness and he steers my arms carefully around the corner. "Listen , Kara. You can' tell anyone about what you've just seen."

"About Whitney?" I say, straining my neck to look through the blurred glass where Capitol surgeons are pumping goodness knows what into her, concoctions of drugs through tubes. And Morphling, an awful lot of Morphling. I see the thick and gooey yellow liquid slither through the tubes and I step forward to protest, but Finnick tugs me back around the corner, into some sort of Avox cleaning supply cupboard and out of view. But that doesn't make me out of earshot as an inhuman screech trills through the corridors, shivering me down to my bone.

Immediately after I found her I carried her as best as I could backwards towards the training building, my muscles straining under her bodyweight. And on my way there I met Finnick, just walking through the streets as if it were the most normal thing to do and he were walking through the streets in his home district, four. The look on his face when he saw me carrying Whitney was enough; it was as if his deepest fears had just been confirmed. He grimly took her limp body from me and strode towards the Capitol as I trotted after him asking a constant flow of questions. None of which he answered.

"Yes, about Whitney Kara. You can't mention it to anyone, okay?"

"But Finnick-"

"There's a darker game at play here than the hunger games, a game hidden within the shadows. But it is here, and it is just as real as the hunger games, and just as threatening."

"Prostitution," I say simply, and Finnick's face jolts slightly.

"You know." The words slide out of his mouth as he slowly realises. "Oh Kara, they haven't, have they? You're not even eighteen. They waited until I was eighteen, and Whitney too."

"You?" I ask, the truth slowly dawning on me. "So then, it's not just the girls? Makes sense, the almighty Finnick Odair, handsome and flirtatious."

"And the rich Kara Jaymond, sexy and charismatic," Finnick counters and I find us staring at each other in the dim light of the cupboard, total shock on our faces. Usually I'd be pretty freaked out being pressed this close to Finnick alone in a dim Avox cleaning supply cupboard, racks of disinfectant, air freshener and bleach surrounding us on plain wooden shelves.

"So… he's been playing you? I should have known, what with Juniper and now Barley and Rye." Finnick pauses, thinking things through, "does that mean you're still opposing him Kara?"

"No, it's not like that," I say desperately, still not understanding what it's quite like myself. "He phoned me up, at home, on my birthday and told me what he wanted me to do. And I, well, I slammed the phone down on him. And then I smashed up the phone, and refused to fix it. I just couldn't face him. I kept telling myself it was all some sort of sick joke, but the eerie feeling that it wasn't just wouldn't leave me. And then Renny was reaped, and I knew Snow was behind it."

"Renny?" Finnick questions, his brow furrowing slightly.

"Yes, he's Lumina's younger brother. You know Lumina – my fellow district eight mentor?"

"Yes, I know Lumina. But she disowned her family ages ago, way back in her games. Why would Snow reap her younger brother?" Finnick asks in confusion.

"To get to me. He gets to Lumina, he gets to me. And I was saying it was all a coincidence, when Barely and Rye were reaped and I- well, I just snapped."

Finnick suddenly lunges forward and grips my arm with his two hands tightly as if in desperation. "Kara- you've got to tell me. Where were you going when you found Whitney?"

"I was just walking around the Capitol, nothing special."

"The truth Kara, you've got to tell me the truth!"

"Okay, I was on my way to see President Snow, and give him a piece of my mind. And my fist as well actually." The moment the words are out of my mouth I can tell by the look on Finnick's face that he's worried about me, more than worried actually.

"Listen Kara," he says, his voice as firm as his grip on my arm "you have to promise me you won't do anything rash like that. You have to promise me." The desperation in his voice is clear, you couldn't avoid it if you wanted to, "you just can't end up like Whitney."

"So you think I should just bow down and sell my body for him?" I snap, and Finnick's face flusters for a moment, before it suddenly flashes with panic.

"Kiss me!" snaps Finnick suddenly, and I look at him with a mix of confusion and distaste and a whole lot of bafflement.

"What?"

"Kiss me!" yells Finnick frantically, the look of bewilderment on my face smothered when his lips press up against mine and his hands wrap themselves around me. I struggle against him and try to push him off, but his muscles hold onto me tightly, and I flail around helplessly inside. Before I know what to think, only knowing that I'm pressed up against him, the door to the cupboard swings open and a face pops in. I can see that it's an Avox of about my age whose face looks oddly familiar, and the look of surprise on it is obvious. He pauses, uncertain, as he takes in the picture of me and Finnick pressed up against each other in a dim supply closet, then slowly backs away. Finnick releases, me a shocked look plastered on his face as he gapes at the Avox as if he had no idea that he was going to be there.

"You can't – you can't tell anyone. You mustn't speak of this to a soul!" Finnick gabbles, a rather stupid remark as the Avox can't speak in the first place. The Avox in question backs away slowly, bobbing his head in regret, and then I see him sprint off down the corridor as fast as he can. I never thought about Avoxes running because I'd never seen it before, but it looks rather funny. Then I remember where I know the Avox from, and the small smile is swiped off my face.

"Thank god it was only an Avox, sorry about that Kara. I couldn't take any risks, and when I heard footsteps, well, I did the first thing that comes to mind. It's got me out of a fair few sticky situations before. Even when it was a guy…"

"What do you mean thank god it was only an Avox?" I yelp, my face paling.

"Kara? Are you okay?" Finnick asks me, his face furrowed with worry.

"That was Alder!" I splutter, emotions wrapping up my body into a tight bundle.

"Alder?" purrs Finnick in a suggestive way.

"He's just a friend," I say, batting away Finnick's suggestions. "Anyway, he'll understand. We've been through a similar situation ourselves."

"You kissed an Avox?" gapes Finnick, "what was it like? I mean, without the tongue? You have nothing to hook onto…"

"Eeew!" I squeal and playfully punch Finnick in the chest. "And no, he was just whispering something to me and then Debbie came in and thought we had been, well, I don't know what she thought."

"Kara," Finnick says, his face turning serious once again, "you didn't promise me."

"Okay," I say, wrenching my emotions from a sudden outburst, "I promise."

I'm not going to oppose Snow after what he did to Whitney, not directly anyway. But if I go along with him… I don't know what to do. Anyway, this promise should hold Finnick for a while now. And there's always something I've learnt, that contradicts everything I've ever said and stood for, but is a bare truth – promises can be broken.


	12. I'm Sorry You Want This

**A/N: **Sorry this took so long to write, only I wrote a chapter and saw it was double the size of a normal chapter so I've spread it out over two chapters and added a song! xD I've actually used quite a leap here, since I want to get some proper chapters kick-started, though this technically is a proper chapter... so there's no problems there. I would have written it after school, but I had so much homework I was working solidly every evening and just didn't have time to write, and the little spare time I did have I had to spend on the 24 authors project. If you enjoy my writing, and even if you don't, please can you check it out if you haven't already? The link's on my profile. It's basically a story where 24 authors write the 24th hunger games, each writing from the POV for one tribute. We're currently just before training, and it's really great. I've got Maia Spring, the district eight girl. She's fourteen, quite quiet and a gymnast. And even if you don't cheer me on (which you better! ;p) then it'd be great if you could... ooh, I don't know, cheer someone else on. We've got a mix of great fanfiction authors on there, and it's great fun. And once we've finished this one we're moving onto another one (and even perhaps two if we get enough applicants) so if you watch it you can apply to take part in it later. And anyway, I need your support guys, and I bet you'll really enjoy it - I mean, I'm in it, why wouldn't you enjoy it. xD Anyway, sorry for the late chapter, read Tears of Blood (the 24 authors project) and have a good day!

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><p>The days whiz past and I barely notice them, the trance I've set myself into. I meet up with Zap, Ally, the rest of the mentors and Alder (quite a bit of explaining needed for that one), and just generally get on with the hunger games, trying to suppress the burning pain that is what has become my job all because a lucky, or rather unlucky, dip and an awful lot of pain, effort, talent and luck. Yes, definitely a lot of luck. At the moment I'm staring gormlessly at Renny and Heather as they desperately try and pull together with their last day of training. The chariot rides were quite a flop actually, as Zap got promoted to district four to work alongside Ally. Their faces when they found out, and Zap could hardly refuse the offer, and Ally could hardly object. Heather got Mimi, like usual, and ended up with a soft lilac dress made out of feathers with beautiful woven layers of silk into it. I still think it would have been better suited at the interviews though, the interviews is all for softness, the chariot rides are for big and bold moves. The new moron who's taken over Zap's place is some idiot called Corrin, and let me just say he's a total oblivious moron if there ever was one. Somehow, though how exactly must have escaped me, he's managed to hang onto his ancestral strong welsh accent, the tones that are meant to be soft blaring out at loud volume across as his whisper seems to translate as a shouting match. And his shouting match… very few eardrums survived that day in the Capitol, I can tell you. I'm surprised Renny isn't deaf already. Renny ended up with a rather simplistic brown cotton short with lilac trousers a bit like Heather's but not as elegant. And that was pretty much it… unimportant and uninteresting.<p>

Then it all kicked into training. We weren't really expecting much, Zen and I, and we didn't get that much either. Heather was struggling to do just three laps around the room when we asked her to, and Renny wasn't that far in front. In fact, there are no superbly awesome ninja-type tributes this year. All we have is a couple of normal, hard working, pretty unfit and underfed, district eight tributes. And the worst thing is, out of the whole team, Heather is the oldest out of all of us. Heather… the tribute we're meant to be superior over. And she's the oldest. Luckily she's not one to make an argument over the fact that we're superior to her, and she understands if she wants a chance to win she's going to have to work hard. Really hard. And I think, even if Renny hasn't picked up on it, she can see the desperation in our eyes and knows she's not going to make it. But she doesn't whinge, she doesn't cry. She just stands up tall and upright with a glint of determination in her eyes and gritted teeth showing she's in this until the end. And I trust both of our tributes implicitly, and have total trust in them without a doubt.

Currently I'm striding with a degree of determination towards a room which I've never been into. The room number's forty-two, and as I stride down the happily brightly lit corridor linking to the rooms that are occupied by the victors I find a tune buzzing on my lips. I know I'm not meant to make a sound, but I still feel that I have to sing, it's just a sudden urge, so I sing but I keep my voice down just in case.

_I'm sorry you want this because it can never be, because I walk this path alone,_

_No, just back far away and leave me be, I'm afraid to say to you that you're just not for me,_

_It's a barren dirt track, far from your glitzy carpet of red; my padding feet are pink and raw like the dead,_

_As I step forward my heart begins to race, as I'm haunted in your memories by your monstrous face,_

_It's easier to look after yourself than care for another, whatever happens it's only me from now on that I'll back up and cover,_

_I'm sorry you want this because it can never be, because I walk this path alone,_

_I must have been young and expectant and fickle, I must have been tiny, so small and so little,_

_My face must have lit up like the brightest moment of day, never quite knowing that you should really stay away,_

_I once did love you for you entranced me so, but of course there were problems, that's something that anyone knows,_

_We were so happy and always together, I promised you that I'd be by your side forever,_

_I'm sorry you want this because it can never be, because I walk this path alone,_

_Things started to go wrong and you grew quite a temper, your anger grew and grew, your red face's colour went deeper,_

_You shouted at me in madness and raised up your arm, then brought it crashing down doing unimaginable harm,_

_Not just to my body but also to my mind, I thought it was a fairytale and I was yours and you were mine,_

_Then you brought me presents, wore a cheery smile, but all of that was eerie and I was waiting for pain all the while,_

_I'm sorry you want this because it can never be, because I walk this path alone,_

_I thought it was over, just a moment of madness, but then events repeated and I became under duress,_

_I really did love you and it was plain to see, but what could I do as you kept hurting me?_

_So as I wrenched out my heart I went and packed my bag, I crept out at the middle of the night, feeling both happy and sad,_

_I started a new life and convinced myself that it was the end, I settled right in, made new enemies and friends,_

_I'm sorry you want this because it can never be, because I walk this path alone,_

_Then one day you turn up three years later out of the blue, I had know I idea what on earth I was meant to do,_

_I slammed the door in your face yet still you waited outside, I noticed by peeking through the window you looked starry eyed,_

_I slowly opened the door and faced you at last, but I could never forget the vents of the past,_

_You say you're sorry from inside your heart down deep, but I can't be certain that things just won't repeat,_

_I'm sorry you want this because it can never be, because I walk this path alone,_

_The path is rough and it never goes straight, the path is monstrous and near impossibly to face,_

_But I have to keep moving and keep upright and strong, or I'll fall back again and my life will once more go wrong,_

_I've made a decision and I don't want you any more, so please just back away and leave my front door,_

_I know this is what you want and I'm the one for you, but you're not for me and my path too._

_I'm sorry you want this because it can never be, because I walk this path alone._

I come to a skidding halt as I finally reach room number forty-two. With a quick glance at the bronze placard at the name of the occupant of this room I'm surprised to see the name _Opal Carbuncle, district one _carved into the deep ancestral bronze. I stop myself from sniggering at the last name, knowing fully well that while it's a term for a rounded red gemstone, it also is the word used for a multiple-headed boil. I'm assuming that whoever this person is, is named after the former definition, but it still makes me almost snigger. I would have actually laughed if I wasn't trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, so instead I just bow my head to cover up my smug smile and push open the door. I'm surprised we're meeting in a district one room, since no-one from district one should be here. This is the rebellion meeting, the one I stumbled across last year. And now I've been invited. Haymitch came up to me, pecked me on the cheek, and whispered the room number forty-two and two days time at midnight. I cannot describe in words what a horrific experience it was to have a drunken and slurred Haymitch kissing me. I would have hit him into next week if we hadn't had the meeting now. As it was I knocked him out cold for a full day after warning him that next time if someone was going to kiss me he should make it Finnick. Sure, the Odair boy freaks me out, but as I learnt after recovering from the shock of last time – he's actually a pretty damn good kisser.

"Hi," I whisper into the room as the door is slowly opened by me, "is anyone here?"

A shushing sound comes from inside the room so I slip inside and slowly close the door from behind me. The moment I reach inside I find the door being slammed for me and a growling Johanna glaring me down.

"What?" I ask incredulously, staring at Johanna's scowling face.

"Don't let the light in," she hisses and then flops back onto the bed she sprung up from. The walls have been painted a light mint green, with a sort of lemon zest colour streaking across them vertically in places, so it looks something of a citrus fruit party, especially with the light orange covered bed and it's sturdy and rather chunky oak frame. The wardrobe is a sort of baby blue and the chest of drawers a gentle lilac. It's like someone's shoved all of the gentle and pleasing colours into one calming room. And somehow, though even I don't know how, it works. Maybe it's the caramel coloured carpet, light and fluffy beneath my feet.

"Whose room is this?" I ask, flinging myself backwards onto the bed like Johanna, and she scowls at me for taking her place. Quickly I scan through who's here to look for the owner of the room. Johanna is sending me evils from the other side of the soft double bed, and I see Finnick grinning at me, leaning on the bed post with one of his flirtatious smiles which still send shivers down my spine. There's a dark brown haired middle aged man with a crisp smile and a lean figure standing next to Finnick, examining me as if for the first time. Well, actually it probably is the first time. I haven't actually been into Cets so far this year, so I guiltily haven't met up with all of the victors. Haymitch is sitting down in a light red arm chair, looking like he couldn't get up if he wanted to with his grubby hand firmly clasped around a bottle of liquor. This time I don't jump in surprise as Beetee and Wiress half-stumble out of the wardrobe, half way through jumping in. I see a ginger-haired man with a wild glint in his green eyes crouch by the bathroom door, his hands tracing the ground as if smoothing a piece of paper down, eliminating the crumples in it so it says straight and fresh. Then finally I see a pair of black skinned victors, a man and a woman who must be Chaff and Seeder, who Haymitch was talking about last year. There doesn't seem to be anyone else in the room.

"This is an unoccupied…" Wiress stars, draining off.

"Room," Beetee says, picking up the sentence as he props his glasses higher up on his nose to stop them slipping off, "Wiress and I swept it for bugs and it didn't have any, so we're okay."

"Okay, and, erm, sorry… but I don't know who all of you are."

"Save it until everyone's here," Haymitch says gruffly, taking another swig from his fast emptying liquor bottle.

"There's someone else?" I ask, confused, "who is it?"

And just to answer the question I pose, the door swings open and a familiar figure steps in.


	13. Introductions

**A/N: **A lot of you guessed who it was, but hey, it wasn't meant to be a cliffhanger until I realised I'd written a chapter which was 3,800 words long. ;D Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter and the quick update, since I probably won't be able to update for another week due to work. Sorry, but I've tried my best!

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><p>"Zen?" I ask, amazed, taking in his figure with absolute shock.<p>

"Kara?" Zen asks, just as surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"What do you think, brainless?" scoffs Johanna, poking me viciously in distaste. I suppose she doesn't have Whitney to annoy any more, since she's off in some Capitol hospital, getting patched up, because she opposed Snow. Oh I hate that evil tyrant… so Johanna's turned on me instead. "She's one of us. Unfortunately. She's completely useless, hasn't done anything slightly beneficial at all, and she never will either."

"Thanks for the kind words of encouragement Johanna," I reply dryly and the middle-aged man chuckles slightly at Johanna's momentary pause of disbelief that I just talked back to her. She gets over her surprise very quickly though.

"My pleasure," Johanna says bitterly, "and if you ever need someone to show you some manners then feel free to call. My home phone number's 042-"

"Children, children," shushes Finnick, "calm down and stop your squabbling. Now, I doubt Zen knows who any of us are, well, apart from a few, and Kara's a pretty new face too. So if we just were to calmly introduce ourselves…"

"Shall we have an introductory session? Let's ask names and go round in a circle!" scoffs Johanna, cutting in, then switches her voice to a girly yet equally sarcastic drivel, "I'm Johanna Mason from district seven, I'm single and I like flower arranging because it's so beautiful and pretty. I spend all my time braiding my hair and skipping around happily because the whole of Panem's a bloody paradise." Johanna's voice became grim and hoarse near the end, and I can tell she's really struck a nerve with a couple of the victors as Beetee shuffles uncomfortably on his feet as he consoles a sobbing Wiress, the ginger man on the floor bows his head down and even Haymitch's hands start to shake even more.

"Em, I'm Blight… Johanna's district partner," says the middle aged man who was standing awkwardly by the double bed, smiling and Zen and me, cutting through the awkward silence Johanna has built.

"Right Blight, just ruin my sarcastic moment, brainless," says Johanna dryly, but Blight just ignores her, shrugging her sharp words off, as if what she said is insignificant.

"Whatevr Johanna, if anything people weren't exactly impressedw tih your so-called sarcastic moment." I don't think many people can speak to Johanna Mason that way, and immediately I take a slight liking to him.

"We're Wiress…" says Wiress, having just finished shaking, bringing her face up from her clenched arms.

"And Beetee, district three," Beetee says, completed Wiress' sentence as she drains off.

"I'm Finnick Odair, man cross god, from four," says Finnick smiling, "the drunk brute in the armchair is district twelve's one and only Haymitch Abernathy who pretty much runs us all, and the guy crouching on the floor-"

"Argon, district five," the ginger man says, springing up from his crouching position and reaching his hand out to Zen, who reluctantly takes it at his sudden change of atittude.

"Zen Strike, erm, district eight. And this is Kara-"

"We know who you are," smiles Seeder, "you two only just won the hunger games – remember? Anyway, I'm Seeder. And this here is Chaff."

"Pleasure's all yours," grins Chaff, and I don't accept his outstretched hand, He reeks of alcohol. When I take a closer look at him I notice he looks quite distinctly close to Haymitch, and back away slightly on the bed. Unfortunately I knock into Johanna by accident, and get a series of glares from her for doing so.

"Where's Whitney anyway?" Johanna growls, "She's meant to be here and I haven't seen her. Not complaining, I think it's a pleasant break, but where is she?" Finnick and I stare at each other, sharing a rather awkward knowing look, unsure how to put it.

"She's-" I start, but Finnick cuts me off. He's better with words than me anyway.

"She stood up against President Snow - you all know about what she was doing for him - anyway, she's now in a Capitol hospital getting patched up, has been for the past week or so. Kara found her…"

Suddenly all the eyes in the room turn on me. There's a rather impenetrable silence that fills the room until I manage to choke out a word, smashing the glares. "What?"

Then everyone breaks off into their own separate and private conversations. Argon steps up and starts a hurried conversation with Beetee and Wiress, though Beetee does the talking mainly, while Haymitch beckons Chaff and Seeder over. Johanna practically attacks Finnick in a yell of surprise, quizzing him madly and her district partner, Blight, stands by, listening in. Then it just leaves me sitting on the bed awkwardly and Zen who shuffles over from by the door.

"Erm, Kara," he mumbles.

"Yes?" I ask; I try to ignore that glances and dirty looks I'm getting from a few of the other victors.

"Who is this Whitney person? And what exactly happened to her?"

I sigh. There's no way I'm going to be able to shield this from Zen forever, and if I just tell him now maybe it'll help things later on.

"Whitney is the district six female Victor. She mentored Misty." At Misty's name Zen shudders. Both of them were in the final two, and Zen ended up killing her in cold blood. I would have avoided using the name if I could, but there's a lot worse to come, and Zen might as well get into the grim and unspeakable mood. "She wasn't particularly nice. She's vain, self obsessed and rather in-your-face. A bit like my hunger games personality, only she's actually like that in real life. But, well, President Snow was blackmailing her with the lives of her close ones, or something like that. I don't know all of the details. And, well, what he wanted her to do was horrible…"

"What did he want her to do?" Zen probes, pressing on through the conversation.

"He got her to work for him… as a prostitute. Sell her body out on night trips, gain money which President Snow would use for his malevolent deeds. Only… she stuck up to him, and then I found her… beaten up and bruised… when I just got into the Capitol. In the streets. And- and. Well, I think he used his end of the bargain, and killed someone very close to her… and probably beat her up as well... for disobeying him."

"Kara," Zen says, looking deep into my eyes with full seriousness, "has he done this to other victors?"

With a slight pause I open my mouth and speak. "Yes, there's Finnick. It happened to Finnick. It's still happening to Finnick. Probably more people too. I think perhaps Johanna, though I don't know if that's true, and somehow I don't see her going along with it, whatever the cost. I doubt anything like that happened to Haymitch, but who knows. In fact, most of the Victors probably had something similar happen to them. I think…"

"Kara," Zen says, full sincerity in his voice and his brilliantly dazzling emerald green eyes lock into my deep blue, your worlds and words entwined, our whole lived matted together. "Kara – has he… is he doing this to you?"

And with a pause and a deep breath, I ever so slowly nod my head.


	14. Don't Think They'll Go Easy On You

**A/N:** Sorry for the wait, just life's been hectic. Instead of revising for my German oral I've been writing for you lot (mainly thanks to one anonymous reviewer who's been epic, thank you so much!) and, erm... yeah. Life's like that. Anyway, got a decently sized chapter for you lot. Not much happens, but its fun, and you get to see Zen's reaction... and hear Haymitch and Chaff sing, and Kara get drunk, and, erm, well... yeah. Have fun, oh yeah, and check out this new hunger games fanfic I've started called "I Know You're There". It's a Finnick/Annie fic, for those of you who ship that couple (well, who doesn't?) and it's about Finnick when Annie arrives out of the hunger games and won't even speak to him. It's quite emotional, and I'm trying something new. Anyway, I plan for it to be a four-part fanfic in Finnick's POV evolving around a poem I wrote. With each chapter a new verse of the poem will be released. If you have time please read and review it. Thanks. ;D

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><p>I lie back in the chair, rocking back and forth in the seat as if the world can't possibly scathe me, massaging my pulsing temple. That must have been disinfectant last night, I can't believe Haymitch, Chaff and Finnick convinced me to drink some of that vile brew. Well, at least now I know why Haymitch's so bad tempered all of the time. Sighing, I lean back even further, brimming with confidence. On the outside at least. On the inside I'm a terrified little girl, shivering inside. Surrounding me is an array of bookshelves (I never even knew the people from the Capitol could read, I had just assumed they were all illiterate), choc-o-bloc with scribbles various designers have made and, as I was surprised to see, plenty of books with just empty pages. When I inquired as to why they were blank Ophelia replied in her same bewildered tone that they're for anyone from the Capitol who fancies giving writing a shot. Apparently they prefer to write in blank books as it gives them an atmosphere and they can feel themselves progressing as they flick through the pages. I absentmindedly nodded along and now I stretch my fingers out, snatching a nearby book from the ground and flicking it open whilst tugging at a biro pen from my pocket, hearing that satisfactory clicking sound as the nib of the pen pops into place as I push the button. I smile in pleasure as the pen scribbles across the blank page's unscathed surface. There, I can easily make notes if I need to now. Plus, I'm getting the hang of this whole 'mingle in with the Capitol' thing that victors have to do, and now I know why.<p>

I turn my face upwards and across the grand and unblemished oak table, shining through enough coats of varnish to work doubly as effective as human skin on insulating the human body. Sitting on the left of the table is Ophelia and Zen, who I briefly smile to, and on the right of the table I face Heather and Renny, nervous faces staring in my direction and waiting for me to start.

"Right then," I say, clicking the pen once again so the nib burrows its way into the plastic casing, and then hurriedly click it once more so it jumps out again, like this cruel game I saw in something the people of the Capitol call an Arcade – sadistically named whack-a-mole. What type of pedantic and neurotic freak invents a game about killing harmless fuzzy animals? And it happens to sit beside clay pigeon shooting, hook-a-duck and some sort of shoot 'em out against harmless little bunny rabbits. I'll never understand the Capitol. "Allies – who you two planning to team up with then?"

There's an awkward pause as Renny and Heather exchange a knowing look. "I- I wasn't really planning to, you know, team up with anyone…" Renny murmurs, and Heather nods in agreement.

"Well that's a crap decision," I mumble, banging the table for effect and causing the two tributes to jump. Oh, I enjoy watching them squeal. Just as I find a giggling grin spreading across my face I notice Zen glance at me. While in the surface it may look like he's glaring at me because I just intimidated the tributes _yet again_, I know it's more to do with last night.

"_Kara," Zen says, full sincerity in his voice and his brilliantly dazzling emerald green eyes lock into my deep blue, our worlds and words entwined, our whole lived matted together. "Kara – has he… is he doing this to you?"_

_And with a pause and a deep breath, I ever so slowly nod my head._

_Zen's face seems to flash through every shade of colour known to man; and then every single shade of colour known to Capitol freak as well as an aftershock reaction. And then there's this daunting silence swelling inside the room, as if it's bulging and expanding so protruding pieces of its expanse suffocate the air in the room, silencing everyone. And all faces turn to me once again._

"_Ka- Kara…" Zen stammers, and then loses colour in his face so it just strikes onto a brilliantly dazzling at yet shockingly hollow white. Is words seem to have been drained from his mouth, but finally he manages to push the next sentence out into the pregnant pause surrounding us. "Have you- have you done anything… you know… for him… like that?"_

_My face is hung low, as is my whole body, but if only one thing is soaring up high its my heart. And with such joy, relief and glee from me, Zen and probably everyone else in the room I speak, "no," then hastily I add, "and sure as the arena I'm not planning on doing anything like that for him - ever."_

_I'm surprised by the reaction I get. Whilst I was expecting a rousing cheer or a round of applause of even just a nod in agreement I get silence. Utterly cold and impenetrable silence. And then finally, ever so finally, someone speaks out. "I don't think that's a good idea, Kara." My face snaps towards the speaker and with a sinking in my heart I see Finnick's face, as pale as a sheet, brimming with worry, terrified. It's as if he was staring at a ghost of himself, the horror in his expression. I glance around and see that many other victors have the same expression on their face, and for once Johanna hasn't got a sarcastic comment to throw about._

"_What do you mean, Finnick?" I stutter, knowing full well what he means, only wanting to hear it from his own mouth._

"_Everything around you will crumble Kara, everything." Instead of Finnick replying its Johanna, and her expression stays solid, her heart just like a solid block of stone – cold and unmoving. Unmoving, untouchable, unlovable, yet somehow, deep down, understanding. As if she knows exactly what's going on in my head right now. "They killed my mother; and my father; and my brother; and my two sisters. They even killed my pet dog."_

"_Don't think they'll go easy on you just because you're something of an asset to them," Beetee whispers, letting his glasses slide down his nose without propping them back up like he usually does, as if he doesn't care._

"_Don't think they'll go easy on you because the Capitol loves you," adds Finnick._

"_Don't think they'll go easy on you because you're some sort of role model to the rest of the victors," Seeder speaks up, causing a drunken Chaff to snort in humour._

"_Don't think they'll go easy on you due to the fact you've always held them in the highest regard and are a supporter of theirs," Argon speaks up, the crouching figure on the floor suddenly becoming a lot more real._

"_And don't", Haymitch growls, "really don't think they'll go easy on you because you're better than them. Because you're not, none of us are."_

"_Just don't think they'll go easy on you Kara, because they won't, they really won't" Blight, Johanna's district partner, finishes, wrapping everything up. An ominous pause fills the room and then suddenly Johanna sniggers._

"_That sounds like some sort of demented Capitol song."_

_Ten seconds later almost all of the victors are singing along to the lines in rounds and Seeder and Argon even have something of a harmony going on. Haymitch and Chaff, of course, are drowning it all out with drunken bellowing, modifying the words of the song so it fits to their rather cacophonic tune._

"_Don't think they'll go easy on you because you're clever, _

_Don't think they'll go easy on you because they love you, _

_Don't think they'll go easy on you because you're a role model,_

_Don't think they'll go easy on you because you worship them,_

_And don't, really don't, think they'll go easy on you because, because, because…"_

"_Because," shrieks Finnick in a shrill and penetrating voice, almost shattering the window in the room._

"_You're better than them! They won't, they won't, they really, really won't!" finish Haymitch and Chaff in a drunken slur before cracking open a new bottle of something that slightly resembles toilet disinfectant._

"_Okay…" murmurs Zen and slowly backs out of the room, leaving me alone with the next chorus of drunken ramblings from Haymitch, Chaff, and ashamedly Finnick who's starting to swig at the disinfectant as well. Naturally I join in._


	15. At Least I Have That

**A/N: **At the moment I've been swamped by illness, work and fatigue. Not to mention friendship problems *le sigh*. So, after forever, I've got this chapter. Well, erm, next chapter shouldn't be a "filler" chapter (a term a lot of you are using. Argh! Doom on you - they're not fillers!) And, erm, yup... Enjoy! :D

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><p>The days drain by in the opposite to the colour slowly pumping back into Whitney's placid complexion. It feels horrible knowing it's all fake, but still seeing her at least looking a tiny bit better is definitely an improvement to the state she was in before. Heather and Renny keep themselves to themselves mainly and Zen still hasn't talked to me about any of what's going on with me and Snow since the meeting. That leaves the other tributes. After the twins from district four, the couple from five seemed pretty normal. Red-ish hair, blue eyes so deep you could lose yourself in their azure oceans and sharp expressions. Six are pretty much the same again as last year, only without the psycho Misty in the mix, the boy's charcoal black hair, grey eyes and olive skin reminds me bitterly of the kids from the Seam in district twelve. The girl shockingly looks like a mini version of Whitney. Her hair's a paper white, fluffed out like feathers; her eyes are light blue, like the clear skies in the summer. Then there's her baby pink skin, soft and subtle and those cherry lips so much like Whitney's. It stings my heart to know how alike they look. District seven both have dark chestnut brown hair, shaggily hanging loose over their grim and solemn faces. I admit I sniggered when I mistook the boy for the girl, they're so similar. Dizzy's girl has straw coloured hair with skin the colour of soft caramel, smooth and milky. Her district partner has a sharp expression and a gangly figure as well as the malnourished look most of the tributes hold. I probably only won because I didn't. Once again I find myself praising my fortunate upbringing. District ten, with their hollow cheeks and shaking figures, won't make it past the first week. And eleven, well, they won't do much better. And as for twelve… well, they'll be lucky to survive the bloodbath. Seam kids, the pair of them.<p>

"Excuse me… um… Kara." I jerk around at the mention of my name from a rather soft and scared voice. I stare gormlessly into empty space, not quite understanding where the name could have come from as I gawp around the tribute's canteen, oblivious to another soul here. Why would they be, it's well past their bedtime. Then again, with death looming over them in a matter of days why would they stick to any bedtimes? But eventually I become aware of a shuddering figure below me and bend my head down to see the shape that is no doubt belonging to none other than Rye, Dral's younger sister. I feel my words block my throat, choking me from the inside. I can't seem to say anything, and just gawp at the tiny little girl as she timidly stares up at me in interest. And suddenly I find myself observing her, taking in every little detail like a stinging wound to my heart. She's wearing a delicate pale blue and lilac lace dress, layers of sea foam white and twinkling azure blue puffin out from the seaweed knotted chest she's got covering her bust. She's got Dral's bronzed skin and his scruffy brown hair, tousled into bunches sticking out the side of her head, like antennae. Something Beetee was droning on about… like the stuff you find on ants, only on ancient machines.

"Juniper…" I choke, and when I mention the name I mentally kick myself. Mentioning her dead elder sister who hated nothing more than my guts and also ended up dead, probably due to me, isn't the exact way you want to go with your old boyfriend who you killed by accident's younger sister. Wow, saying it like that makes it seem a whole lot more complicated than it should be. Then again, it's President Snow's plot… or is it? I was the one who released that knife, sending it whipping towards Dral, cutting him down. And that was what ran all of these events. If I hadn't killed him then... Bitter memories leave a bitter taste on my tongue, so I banish those thoughts by focusing on the present. Which, when I look at it, doesn't look to peachy.

"Rye- your name is Rye. You're tougher than your twin Barley, or so Dral said. Then he went on to say some stuff about girls being weaker than guys, so then we had a fake fight. And then I beat him, and then we… we…"

"Kissed," squeaks Rye, her chestnut brown eyes, a mirror image of Dral's, watering, "yeah, I saw. It was televised on… television."

"I know, I know. I just… keep forgetting."

And with that, without thinking about where I am, who I'm standing next to or what I'm even doing here, I collapse into tears, breaking down into a torrent of racking sobs. "I just… I miss him so much!"

Dral would have comforted me, his strong hands wrapping around me in a warm embrace. Juniper would have scowled at me, a smug smirk struck across her face. But Rye doesn't do either of those things. She just stares up at me, slightly bewildered, then staggers back.

"But Juniper- Juniper said…" And just like that she stumbles out of the room, leaving a trail of tears behind her, winking on the floor at me.

I don't know how long I stand here, resting on the wall, gasping for breath as the whole world spins around me. I'm stuck in the eye of a hurricane. If I step out of the calm and tranquil circle I'm in then I'll be buffeted by wild and ferocious winds, ripping up tows like paper and shredding me, slicing me until I am no more. So then, to survive, I have to go where the storm carries me, sprint with all my might to keep up with it. But I'm running to a place that I don't want to go and while I keep on running my friends, family and close ones to me will be ripped to shreds outside, with no chance of me saving them. First of all it's my mother, a glower that rarely appeared fixed on her face. Then it's Vivian, her hair as black as the darkest night swept over her face, covering up her expression. But I can imagine it all right, and what it holds. Hatred. Towards me. Then there's Dral, and I find that girl from district six as well. Martha-Rose Fall. Staring at me, just staring. With that same haunting smile fixed on her face.

Something warm strokes my hand, the tentative feeling of human skin brushing past. At first I recoil, thinking its one of Debbie's horrible human skin gloves, but somehow it seems softer, tenderer and more sensitive. My vision is blurred, blocked with welling tears, and instead of seeing the face of the person's hand whose taken mine all I find I can do is search, my eyes like blowlamps in the darkening fog, and discover a faint trace of a figure. It's only a silhouette, but still I seem to know who it is. Zen, it has to be. And gently he probes my feelings by guiding me across the canteen and through the winding corridors entwined into a labyrinth of the training building. I lose all focus and sense of direction, and just concentrate on the warm feeling of his hand as he guides me, like I'm a toddler just learning to walk, across the building and towards Cets. Yes, the interviews start tonight. That's why Rye was wearing that dress. That's where Zen is taking me now, leading me to Cets to observe the interviews from there. And slowly, with the heat of the gentle hand guiding me, I just let it take me wherever and let go of my worries. Dral may not be here, Dral's gone, but Zen's here. At least I have that.


	16. And Tomorrow

**A/N: **My internet went down for a week and I thing I just _died_. It's back on! Not just the internet - my phones and even my TV was down! MY TV! I don't even know how I survived... And the members of Tears of Blood are going to grill me alive since I haven't updated it in a week as well. Whoops! Anyway, here's your chapter. I wrote it while the internet was down since I had little else to do. Thanks for waiting and sorry you guys! Technology and I are having a bit of a war recently! :D

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><p>First up is the girl from district one, her raven coloured hair and bitter expression somehow straighter and even more serious as she steps up to the stage, the dress she's wearing a sleek black robe sweeping past her feet. I don't quite know what angle she's going for – serious, mysterious maybe? Definitely a force to be reckoned with. She answers the questions with a bitter taste in her tongue, never quite giving much away about herself, until she finally swoops back to her seat and grimaces up at her district partner as he swaggers onto the stage. He's the exact opposite, open, funny, charismatic, and definitely a ladies man. His pearly teeth glint in the light at he beams at the audience, causing half of the girls to swoon. At first I think his bright gold suit is ridiculous, but slowly I get accustomed to it and realise that it really does show his character. Outgoing.<p>

Soon district one's over and it's district two's turn. The girl comes up first, her straw hair suddenly totally different. What was a muddy yellow, thick and rough in texture, has been transformed into sleek dark ebony waves, rippling down her back like the lapping sea. A grimace holds on her face and I note the bulging muscles proudly on display from her leather jacket studded with diamonds safely cut off at her shoulder, making her seem really beefy. And scary, definitely terrifying. She growls about how she's the strongest tribute here and so on and so forth until finally she grudgingly steps down and makes way for her district partner, shoving his shoulder slightly with hers and he comes up to the stage. That impact looks enough to shatter bones, but he simply blinks it away as if were nothing and carries on ascending up to the stage. He's a sixteen year-old boy from district two, and while you might have thought his age would have been a disadvantage he definitely looks the part of a career, all right. He's wearing smart black trousers and a see through cream shirt which has been left open, revealing his open chest. And his six pack. I vaguely note that he's wearing trainers as he sleekly steps up onto the stage, but shudder the thought off as he gives off a grim, lopsided smile. Something about it seems feline, and sends shivers down my spine. Maybe it's that combined with his sleek black hair and olive skin like from district twelve. Only no way would anyone from district twelve look that… deadly. Confident yet elusive answers, with a slight smile playing across his lips as if he knows something we don't. I'll have to get Heather and Renny to watch out for him.

Next up trembles the district three girl. She doesn't look anything like a force to be reckoned with, a gangly and underfed figure hiding behind glasses like an owls. I barely give her a second thought. Then arrives her district partner. He has long matted brown hair, wild and untamed, riding down his back. And all the time he glares at the camera. Glare. Glare. Glare. It's like he'll never stop. Caesar asks him a question. Nothing. No answer. Caesar repeats the question. Silence. Caesar rephrases the question. Pan dead silence. And this boy just sits there gloomily, glaring Caesar down, until the bell sounds for the end of the interview and he morbidly stands up and stomps off to his seat, shoving his hands in his pockets. Ripped jeans, baggy grey t-shirt, trainers without even the laces being done up and of course his hair. It's like he's been refusing any help in this games. It's like he's a rebel. Well, I know what the Capitol does with rebels, and I don't fancy being in his shoes right now. He won't make it out of the games alive.

The up comes district four, Rye. She's wearing the same outfit as before, and in this light she looks something of a sea nymph, something from ancient Greek mythology Finnick was going on about once. Her little face is flushed a beetroot red, as if embarrassed, and she nimbly steps up to the stage. Caesar gently asks her questions – how she feels about her training score of four, what does she have that the other contestants have. She answers them simply, yet innocently as if she can't quite understand and hasn't fully grasped the situation she's in yet. She likes the four she got because it's the same number as her district and she says that she has her brother, which I think makes most of the audience break down into silent sweeping tears, trickling down their faces like a bubbling mountain brook meandering its way down the mountain. Then Caesar asks her the question – what about Dral, Juniper and… me? There a stuttered pause as her face goes a candyfloss pink and she contemplates the question, turning it over in her head again and again and again until finally she answers.

"Dral was my elder brother, still is my elder brother. Juniper was my elder sister but is no longer my elder sister. And Kara… Kara could have been part of my family but she isn't. That's just how it is." There's a pregnant pause as the Capitol takes it in, trying to decipher it. Caesar just stars to ask her what she means but the bell goes off, making Rye stand up and creep back to her seat as gently as possible, as if she's walking on broken glass.

"Barley," Caesar smiles, grinning at Barley with a beaming smile, "what do you think your sister meant there?" and so Barley picks up where Rye left off. He seems a weaker character than her, if that is even possible, and looks like a boy who has been forced to grow up way too early through hardships. "First my brother, then my sister, then us two… this has shattered our family," Barley murmurs, his face dipping low as if in shame. But if anyone should be ashamed it should be the Capitol. The interview goes on, Caesar talking vaguely about light topics for a bit, until he asks the final question. "So why did no-one volunteer for you, do you think?" There's a stunned silence from Barley's direction and he just manages to stutter out a "someone had to st-" before the timer goes off and he hurries back to his seat, as if afraid about the answer.

Then, just as if they had been any other tributes, the next lot step up as if that interview had just been by anyone, not Dral's two remaining siblings. A red haired girl and boy go up and deliver a rather weak performance, followed by the Whitney look-a-like, who I realise does not just look like Whitney but acts like Whitney as well. She's just so full of herself. I admit I drift off during her interview, and the rather bland district partner of hers that follows, a copy of the kids from the Seam. Next arrives the cou[ple from seven, glossy long chestnut brown hair and freckled faces. They seem like two nice people, even if the boy is a bit too girly, and I'm almost sad to see them drift off the stage and make way for district eight. Right, district eight. This is the time for Heather and Renny. Heather stumbles up to the stage, almost tripping over as she goes up. She's wearing an ocean grey dress which matches her eyes, and her coconut shell brown hair has been contorted into some sort of order, though it isn't all that impressive. She steps up and takes a seat by Caesar, ruffling out the crinkles in her dress as she does so, spreading it out in front of her like a fan. Caesar opens with a smile and some kind words and the conversation gets rolling. I notice it doesn't really seem to stand out as anything in particular, not very funny, smart of cute, but it's still a decent conversation that keeps the crowds interested. Caesar asks her about her four, and asks her how she feels about getting the same mark as a twelve year-old, to which Heather replies "but she's not any ordinary twelve year-old, is she?" which seems to get the crowd murmuring, especially when Caesar asks if Heather's an ordinary eighteen year-old to which she answers the question with a question – what exactly defines normal? I smile when I hear that, and Zen chuckles lightly next to me. I have a sudden urge to join in, but restrain myself from doing so and turn back to the screen from Zen's playful face just to see Renny going up to the stage as Heather settles back down in her seat.

Renny gets the usual treatment. "What's your name," "What do you like about most in the Capitol," "How do you feel about your training score of five," that kind of thing. He answers the questions well, and by the end of it I'm quite pleased. He hasn't got a real radical style like Zen, with all of the stammering and the timid personality, but he's got his own self out there, and I find I'm glowing inside by the end of it. My two tributes are staying true to themselves which is something I could never do in m y games. And to be true, I'm envious. Even though they'll die, they'll die themselves. But then the whole world shatters around Renny with one simple question. "What about your sister?" And suddenly there's a choking pause shimmering around the interview room and I can feel Renny's nervousness. I note he just manages to choke out "what?".

"Your sister, you know. Lumina Stayton, maiden name Lumina Carter, previous district eight victor," Caesar says, oblivious of the spike that he has planted rupturing Renny's heart. Renny stammers, unable to know what to say, until he briskly snaps "my sister disowned me, we're not real siblings." And with that the timer goes off, a tiny jingling bell, beckoning Renny back to his seat. He looks as he's seen a ghost, all the blood has drained from his face, and I can't help but feel sorry for him. I don't know how I would have reacted if my sister, Vivian, got dragged up, and for Renny it's a lot worse. At least Vivian didn't disown me, even for my own protection. I know both she and I have done things to and about each other that we regret, but we'd never disown each other. And the fact that Lumina cut all of those bonds with Renny sends a stinging pain stabbing into my heart, and suddenly I feel ridiculously sorry for Renny.

I don't have much time to think about it though as Dizzy's tribute sits down in Caesar's chair. She has soft milky caramel skin, smooth and unblemished like a Capitol beverage, a toffee milkshake. Her hair is a dirty blonde and is curled so it hangs just above her shoulders in layers of frizz. She is actually quite a good hand for comedy and has a great sense of irony. Virtually everything she says is sarcastic and when Caesar asks her what her favourable weapon is she replies in a deadpan serious voice that she prefers to use feathers as tickling is a highly effective way of torture. I must admit I laughed rather a lot at that one; it's just the seriousness she said it in. She evidently is going to be quite a hit in the Capitol.

The boy's unimpressive and I'm still chuckling at the girl before's sarcasm while he's on so I barely notice him. Ten, eleven and twelve all send me off to sleep. They're bloodbaths, no doubt about it. Bloodbath fodder, they're the ones who get knocked off straight away, slowly ground down until they die. Hmmm… pleasant thought.

"Well, that was interesting," I say as Caesar signs off, and sigh as I sink back in my chair. Right, so that was the interviews. And tomorrow… the games.


	17. Waiting

**A/N: **Yeah, sorry about the delay again. Updates are getting slow. But hey, that's the way they're going to be from now on, I suppose. I guss on the third book I'm starting to run out of energy. And time. Gah, and I thought the workload couldn't get more. Ah well, how does that matter? Anyway, here's your chapter. ^_^

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><p>The moment light hits my eyes I jolt up, unable to quite process what I'm seeing. Light… hmm… light! I jolt up even further. I check my watch. I haven't slept in on the day of the games <em>again<em>, have I? With a quick glance at my watch I note in the negative. Okay, so I have an hour left. I guess that means goodbyes then. But somehow these goodbyes don't seem like they're just going to be a simple "donec eras", until tomorrow cover. Because unlike last time I know both of these two are going to die. Straight away. And it's not going to be pretty.

"Zap, what are you doing here?" I ask as I wrench open my door just to find Zap there, and it looks as he's been waiting out here for a long time.

"Oh, Kara," he says in surprise. He somehow doesn't look surprised now, so he has been waiting for me. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Yes, fancy seeing me outside my door of my room which I exit at this precise time every morning without fail. Wow, that's so unpredictable!" I don't mean for my words to come out of my mouth dry but they do and end up bitter on my tongue, leaving a lingering taste gnawing at my tongue. "What is it you want?" I snap.

"Oh, right. Well Kara, the thing is…"

"Kara! You're going to be late!" Ophelia suddenly charges in and tugs my arm, dragging me away from Zap.

"Oh, right…" murmurs Zap.

"Tell me later!" I call, then let Ophelia tug me off to wherever Renny and Heather are now. I feel my arm being dragged this way and that as I'm wrenched through a labyrinth of Capitol corridors, the blinding white lights and cheery colours contrasting so it seems I'm in a mix of a nightmare and a disco dance stage. Either way, it's far from an enjoyable experience.

"We're here!" Ophelia says, letting out a brief puff of air from her lungs and I see the door in front of me reading 'district eight female'. I know this room, I spent the build-up to a hunger games shivering in this room. This was where I could be me, not Clara. Kara. The proper one. The right one. This was my sanctuary, this is someone else's sanctuary and now I'm going to invade it with the horrible vision of the hunger games. This is where Heather is.

I barge into the room after Ophelia and almost crash into Heather as she's just going out as I go in. "Heather!" I squeal, then clasp her hand tightly. "You ready?"

"Yeah," she murmurs, all the colour drained from her face, leeched like her life force will be soon. She doesn't look ready.

"Okay," I say, squeezing her hand reassuringly. "You'll be fine, don't worry." I'm lying and both of us know it, but we ignore the fact and Ophelia chips in.

"Yes Heather, you'll be fine. Just do what you need to do."

"Water, get water," I say. I know listening to a girl who banded with the careers to win isn't helpful at all, but it's the best on offer. "Most of all – survive. Do whatever it takes. Even if you're…" I pause. "No longer yourself afterwards, just live okay?"

Heather's face turns solemn. "There's no point living if I'm no longer myself. I might as well have been transformed into a mutt, working for the Capitol."

I know the words of a soon to be dead tribute aren't meant to hit home hard, but those do. They really do. It sucks all the breath out of me as if someone has siphoned it off and all of a sudden I feel dizzy and find myself sinking down onto the bed that was mine and Indi's and Heather's and Lumina's and many other dead girls, my knees buckling under the weight of my heart.

"Oh, okay…" Ophelia says, then rushes out of the room.

"Tell Renny bye for me," I mumble. Somehow I don't think I can face Renny now, after having just seen Heather. She's bad enough. If I were to see Heather… I think I might just about start crying.

"Sure thing," mutters Ophelia and then slips out of the room, carefully and thoughtfully shutting the door behind her.

"Heather, come here," I say, patting the space of bed beside me. Compliantly Heather comes and sits.

"You won't know what it's like… until you're out there, until you're fighting for your life out there in the arena. And believe me, it's hard. But out there it's them or you. The victors are the ones that chose themselves, and the others… they're the ones that chose everybody else, they're the ones that are lining the graves in the districts as we speak, segregated from the other gravestones with a simple mark saying 'tribute', a mark that separates them from everybody else. So… you know what, I turned into a monster and I said I'd win, I was selfish and cared about myself rather than another very, very important person to me. Well, quite a few very important people to me. I was in there with my boyfriend, even my own sister. And you know what, that's who win the hunger games. People like me. No, monsters like me. And I'm telling you now – if you want to live you've got to become a monster. It's your call; just I'm telling you how it is."

There's a shallow pause in the air, a sort of choking pause as If time itself was holding it's breath, then Heather speaks up. "Okay Kara."

Then silence resumes, and we both search the room for something to talk about. I look Heather up and down. She's in her training uniform – she hasn't bothered doing anything but that. She'll be changing into her outfit for the arena soon enough. Her fists are clenched, and at first I think it's because she's scared, then I see a brown wooden ball clenched in her fist.

"What's that, your token?" I ask, gesturing at the ball.

"Oh?" Heather asks, looking down at her hand as if she just noticed it herself, "well, yeah."

"Oh," I say, and then after a pause, "I thought you didn't have a token."

"I didn't, but I-"

"Time to go!" Ophelia chips in, popping her head around the door. I nod at heather and manage to murmur a "good luck" before she leaves, off to the hovercraft, off to the arena. Well then, I better get to Cets, Zen will be waiting. And so will Heather and Renny.


End file.
